A Dangerous Game
by Kes Cross
Summary: Colby's new team is the pride of the FBI, but repercussions from David's time in Washington puts everyone in danger. Facing violent mercenaries, arms dealers and a traitor inside the FBI, Colby and the team race to save David's life. Sequal to Enigma.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we're _off again! _Welcome to Season 4 – A Dangerous Game. The season has started earlier than expected, thanks to a good friend of mine unleashing a ninja!plot bunny attack at me (Yeah, _thanks_ Julie!) At this point I am obliged to explain to you that I have nothing to do with Numb3rs, am not part of the crew/cast/writing team/going out with the 'Grip' (whatever that is…) and have no say over what the regular characters get up to on their days off.

I do, however, own the story and the Brit-Pack characters you all know and love and will use a large stick to play Whack-a-Moley with the noggin of anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warnings for bad language, violence and the occasional bit of Cockney slang that will bewilder, confuse and baffle those whose 'daisy roots' have never walked the hallowed and crap-lined streets of the East End of London.

Note: For those not from the UK, 'Six' is the shortened slang name for MI6. Anything else, and yer on yer own…

Right. Enough buggering about. Let's get this season started, shall we?

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**3333333333333333333333**

It was supposed to have been a routine bust.

The intel from LAPD had appeared to be good and Don's team had been watching the meth lab for the last week. The immediate neighbours were moved silently from their homes by SWAT and all civilians were now safely out and clear. They'd moved into position just before dawn, using the cover of darkness to mask their operation. LAPD were on standby down the street out of sight and they had strict instructions to keep it that way unless the FBI said otherwise.

Meth labs were always risky. The chance of the place going up like a bomb was always there, hanging over anyone brave enough to approach the lab like a coked up angel of death. They were stuffed to the rafters with volatile chemicals and even more volatile meth heads cooking up the next batch of crystal to hit the streets. Heavily armed and usually high, meth lab dudes didn't mess around with small hand guns and a couple of automatic rifles. These guys were armed to the teeth with machine pistols, fully automatic guns including Kalashnikovs and there were reports that the bastards had grenades as well. They'd be reluctant to use those grenades as the risk of the entire place blowing sky high with them still in it was too great. While they may have been crazy, meth heads weren't completely stupid. But they could start tossing them around at the incoming SWAT teams if things got ugly. And Don didn't want things to get ugly today if he could avoid it…

Don surveyed the location again from the safety of the command van. Two guards at the top floor windows, one in the alley that ran alongside the house and probably plenty more dotted around the place, all bored, all high and all with itchy trigger fingers. They had to go in hard, fast and from every angle. The layout of the place made it a tactical nightmare, and the only thing that could stop this turning into a goddamn bloodbath was the FBI's element of surprise.

It never ceased to amaze Don just how many meth labs were situated in what would be classed as 'nice' suburban neighbourhoods. The street was lined with tidy houses, pretty front yards and even the occasional white picket fence. These were people who had good, middle class jobs in real estate, banking and other blue-collar professions. Their kids went to college, they had family barbecues on the weekend and their credit cards were maxed out to the limit. Beneath the veneer of respectability, all kinds of lives were being led - some struggling to make the next mortgage payment, others a model of Martha Stewart perfection.

These ordinary suburbanites had no idea that their next door neighbours were cooking up some of the most lethal drugs ever to hit LA's streets. Miles away from the ghettos of South LA or the east of the city, this was the perfect location if you wanted to go unnoticed. The guards knew enough to stay subtle – a casual glance at the house would give nothing away. But a more detailed look would yield little clues that all was not as it first seemed. Permanently drawn drapes. A front door that looked much tougher than the ones on the surrounding houses. And every so often, that strange, sickly sweet smell of a new batch of crystal being cooked as the extractor fans struggled to cope as they were supposed to.

"Everyone in position?" Don spoke into his comms and chomped on a piece of gum, constantly scanning the screens in front of him.

"_Alpha team, ready."_

"_Bravo team, ready."_

"_Charlie team, ready."_

Don glanced at his watch and then over at David Sinclair. His partner and second in command of the LA Violent Crimes Unit was already in his vest and checking his side arm. David glanced up, waiting for Don's signal. "SWAT's in position, Don. We're good to go."

"Okay. Let's make this clean, quick and clinical." Don stood up and pulled his own gun out of its holster. He gave David a quick nod. "All teams, GO, GO, GO!"

The neighbourhood erupted. From every angle SWAT team members closed in on the meth house. Bravo team was taking the east side. Agent Gary Mitchell hurled a smoke grenade at the window, expecting the glass to shatter and let the grenade sail through to do its work. It didn't. The grenade bounced off the window and hissed uselessly on the grass strip that ran along the side of the house, spewing out thick clouds of choking grey smoke. Gary's eyes widened in surprised behind the clear Perspex eye guards in his gas mask. "What the fuck?" He lifted his gun up and fired a burst of 9mm bullets at the window. It didn't shatter. A couple of bullets punched their way through the glass, but the window just crazed. "Bastards!" He barked into his comms. "Windows are toughened glass! Repeat, the sons of bitches have toughened glass in the windows! No ingress!"

Don cursed as Gary's panicked voice sounded through his earpiece and he yelled into the comms. "Gary, get outta there! PULL BACK!"

Gary swore again and motioned to Bravo team. They used their own smoke grenade as cover and pulled back from the impenetrable window. As they did, they could see every other window on the ground floor suddenly darken. The snap of steel shutters clicking into place turned any assault the FBI was planning into an almost impossible task. The only option was the front door and Charlie team's assault on the rear of the property.

Alpha team hit the front door hard. It wasn't hard enough. The door was reinforced with plate steel half an inch thick. The strip of plastique Agent Paul Browning positioned around the lock wasn't enough to blow it and the door stayed resolutely shut. "SHIT!" In an instant, Alpha team came under automatic gunfire from the windows. They were pinned down next to the door with no way of retreating back over the open yard without getting picked off by the gunmen inside the house. This wasn't in the plan. Retreat was never considered. You went in hard, you cleared room by room using a simple seek and subdue strategy and you locked it down.

The gun battle reached new levels of intensity. Don and David sheltered behind the bullet-riddled body of the Dodge Charger. "Don, this is going south!"

"Ya _think_, David?" Don scowled angrily, popped up using the hood of the Dodge as support and started firing towards the house, taking care to keep his aim clear of the pinned down Alpha team. He ducked back down and snarled into his comms. "PUT DOWN COVERING FIRE! ALPHA TEAM, MOVE YOUR ASSES OUTTA THERE!"

Another prolonged burst of gunfire ripped through the morning peace of suburban America. Alpha team scuttled across the front lawn, hunched over to try and make themselves as small as possible. It was all down to Charlie team now…

Agent Chris Potter hopped over the fence and ran in a zigzag path across the back yard. He didn't notice the thin wire stretched across the path and his ankle caught it just yards from the back door. A thick, muffled boom filled the morning air and a cloud of earth and gravel sprayed up. The Claymore anti-personnel mine did its terrible work and Chris dropped to the floor screaming. He clutched desperately at his stomach, trying to stop his guts from spewing out all over his blood-soaked jacket.

Two of his fellow team members, braving the booby-trapped garden, rushed forward to grab the dying man and drag him to safety. A burst of automatic gunfire from a top floor window made the dash all the more dangerous. Agent Dom Patterson felt a bullet smash into his neck and screamed in pain. Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the wave of agony that flooded through him and kept his grip on Chris. They managed to get to the fence and topple over the top, dragging the still screaming Chris with them. Dom collapsed, slipping quickly into unconsciousness as the blood poured from his neck wound. Agent Steve Castle sprayed a short burst of bullets at the top floor window and to his satisfaction saw the gunman jerk twice as two found their mark. The sniper dropped out of site. Steve yelled into his comms. "TWO MEN DOWN! BACK YARD BOOBY-TRAPPED! NO INGRESS! WE NEED MEDICS! _NOW_!"

David shot a look at Don. "Don, what the hell?" It was turning into a disaster. The house was a fortress with a steel lining that made it almost impossible to breach. They had lost the element of surprise and had two seriously wounded agents. Gunmen in the top floor windows were still spraying automatic gunfire out of the windows, keeping the FBI at bay.

Don snarled in frustration. The intel had been wrong. These guys weren't just some bunch of wide-eyed stoners cooking up a bit of crystal meth. This was a goddamn disaster! "Get MIT here _now_!"

David nodded and flipped open his phone. He punched a speed-dial number and pressed the phone to his ear. "C'mon Colby, pick up!"

"_Granger…"_

"Colby, roll your team to our location. This goddamn meth house is a freakin' fortress. We've got a siege situation and we need your guys here _now_!"

"_With you in ten, David."_

"Five would be better, bud!" David snapped the phone shut. "Col's team are rolling. They'll be with us in ten minutes."

Don risked a glance at the now besieged house and ducked down quickly again as a fresh burst of gunfire sang through the air like angry bees. He dropped back down behind the bullet-riddled Dodge and glanced at his friend. "Let's hope they bring their big toys, huh?"

David grinned briefly. "If I know Colby, he'll bring everything he's damn well got!"

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Eight minutes later, two black Range Rovers screamed up the road and slued to a stop next to the command vehicle. The doors opened and six men piled out of the big trucks. They were dressed in black combats and already heavily armed. Colby shut the passenger door of the first Range Rover and signalled briefly to the other five men. They trotted towards the command van. "Ian, you're with me, bud." Colby and Ian Edgerton ran up the steps into the command van and grinned broadly at Don. "Got a spot of trouble, Don?"

"Hey Col, good to see you, brother!" Don shook Colby's hand briefly. The younger man hadn't been around the Violent Crimes unit much lately. His newly formed team had been repeatedly deployed with other units almost from the first day Colby took command. Military Intelligence Tactical already had a reputation as one of the most deadly and effective strike forces in the FBI and everyone wanted a piece of them. Colby and his team had been clocking up some serious overtime recently, but the results they were turning in had pushed Violent Crimes clean up rate up from 85% to 90% in just a couple of months. Calling MIT the 'Dream Team' had resulted in a very hard stare from Colby and Ian at one poor unfortunate rookie, who never made the same mistake again…

"Okay, buddy, what you got?"

"Steel shutters on all the ground floor windows. Toughened glass, front door's steel plated and the back garden's booby trapped with goddamn anti-personnel mines." Don gave Colby a quick run down on the situation. "Two of SWAT's people have been seriously injured and there's rotating snipers at the top floor windows."

Colby immediately turned to Ian. "Let's clear those snipers out first. Ian? Wanna go do what you do best, buddy? Take Doug with you. He's a good shot."

Ian smiled enigmatically. "Sniper detail. Copy that, boss." Don couldn't disguise the smile on his lips at the sound of Ian calling Colby 'boss'. MIT weren't known for having a particularly clear chain of command, but on operations, Colby was very much in charge. Ian accepted this with good grace. He knew how capable Colby was particularly at tactical analysis and was happy to let the younger man lead from the front. If they needed a sniper or tracker, then Colby immediately relinquished command to Ian. It was the way the unit worked, and it worked well.

"Don, this house behind us. Is it empty?"

Don nodded at Colby. "Yep. All the neighbours were cleared out before dawn."

"Great. We might have to buy them a new front door but Ian, it's all yours. Take those bastards out for me, would you?" Colby grinned briefly at his friend. The grin vanished. "Deadly force. These guys ain't gonna back down in a hurry."

"Give me three minutes." Ian trotted out of the command van and signalled to Doug Cross. "With me, Doug. Sniper detail."

Doug Cross slung his .308 M1A1 over his shoulder and followed Ian. There was a brief sound of splintering wood behind the van as the two ex-soldiers entered the empty property opposite the meth house.

Colby frowned briefly. "I wanna take a closer look at that house. Any other ingresses?"

"None that we know about." Don shook his head.

Colby continued to frown. "That doesn't make any sense. Why build a fortress that you can't get out of?" He leaned briefly out of the command van. "MICK! DANNY! TIM! TO ME!" The men responded instantly and the command van suddenly became very crowded as the three big ex-soldiers squeezed their way in. Colby quickly explained the situation. "Ian and Doug are on sniper detail. They'll take care of the top floor shooters at the front of the house. Back garden's booby-trapped with Claymores, so that's a no go. Steel shutters and toughened glass on the windows, steel plate on the door. Okay guys. So how are our perps gonna get out? I'm guessing we've got a nest of gofers here."

"Sewers." Danny Smith answered immediately. "There's gotta be a main pipe close to the house. Same as it was in Kosovo, Col."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Colby turned to Matt, who was engrossed at a computer. "Matt, can you pull up city schematics for this area please?"

"Not a problem, Agent Granger." Matt tapped at a few keys and a blueprint filled the screen.

The men leaned in over Matt's shoulder, peering at the image. Colby pointed to a section next to the meth house. "There."

"There's an access point on the east side." Tim King pointed at a mark on the blueprint. "These guys are pros, boss. Going on what we've seen in previous meth house layouts, they've probably got a side tunnel bored into the main line and are using that as a vent for the fumes."

"Neighbours report that they did do some alterations to the house a few months back. I should be able to access the schematics they submitted to the planning department. Might give you a better idea of where any access tunnel might've been dug?" Matt looked up at Colby.

Colby smiled at the guy. Matt might be one of the 'back room boys', but he was a trained FBI agent who had seen his fair share of fieldwork over the years. The two men had become firm friends and Colby had a great deal of respect for Matt's ability at 'lateral thinking' as well as his technical expertise. "Great, bud. Let's see what we've got."

Matt tapped rapidly at the keyboard, his fingers a blur. A planning application diagram popped up and Tim King pointed to the east side of the house. "Bingo. So-called drainage pipe. Ten bucks says that's our escape tunnel."

"Fuck me, it's like The Great Escape all over again!" Micky Cox laughed. "Don't tell me. They called it Tom."

"Yeah. They started on Dick and Harry but the Germans found 'em and they all spent a week in the cooler!" Danny Smith rolled his eyes.

Tim gave Colby a baffled look. "Boss?"

"Bud, they're Brits. You'll get used to them. Okay. So that's their way out and our way in. Gas masks on, guys. Let's go play, what is it you call it Micky?"

"Knock down ginger?" Micky Cox grinned broadly.

David frowned at his English friend. "Knock down what now?"

"Knock down ginger, Sinclair. That's when a bunch of kids knock on someone's door and then bugger off before they answer."

"Hell man, that's a good way to get shot around here! You Brits must have some brave damn kids!"

"Nah, mate. We just ain't got as many hand guns laying around the average suburban house as you guys." Danny Smith laughed.

"We have to move fast on this one or they'll rabbit. We'll drop into the main line at B5 access point. Tim, take point. Micky, cover the rear. Let's go." Without another word, Colby led his team out of the command truck and over to the Range Rovers. Within a minute they were fully kitted out and heading in the opposite direction towards what they had identified as access point B5. Their faces were covered by black gas masks and the black combats they wore made them look like modern day Ninjas. Only these men were even more deadly…

Don watched the MIT unit go to work and smiled to himself. David glanced at him and grinned. "Aww! Look at our little Colby! All grown up!"

"He's a good team leader, bud."

"Yeah. Always knew he would be one day. That's one hell of a crew he's got there."

Don nodded. "Ain't that the truth. Our friends in that house ain't gonna know what hit them!"

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The four men hunched over and trotted along the pitch-black tunnel towards the access point in the meth lab garden. Above them, they could hear the faint snap of gunfire as Doug and Ian picked off the meth lab's snipers with deadly accuracy. Their barrel-mounted flashlights shone beams of light through the thick blackness of the sewer pipe. Suddenly Tim King held up a fist and the four men stopped as one. He motioned towards a rough door in the side of the pipe cut above the water level. The opening was just wide enough to let a person crawl through. The men could smell the faint, sickly sweet scent of crystal meth fumes. They only had minutes to execute their assault, even with the benefit of the gas masks. The meth lab would probably vent the access point before trying to escape. Crawling through a pipe filled with meth fumes would kill anyone who tried to do it without a gas mask, so the team was pretty certain that everyone was still in the building.

Colby joined Tim at the door and grinned. "I love it when I'm right!"

Tim crouched in front of the access point and studied it. He turned to Colby. "We blow it and we could ignite the entire tunnel. There could be enough fumes in here to turn it into an inferno."

"Agreed. Lock's on the right. So let's take a look at those hinges, shall we?" Colby studied the hinges and motioned back to Danny Smith. "Dan, give me your Leatherman, would ya?" Danny Smith held out the multi-tool and Colby took it from his hand. "Cheers, bud." He flipped open the flat-head screwdriver attachment and quickly reached inside a pocket for a role of electrical tape. He wound a small amount around the head of the screwdriver. If there were meth fumes, one spark could blow the whole tunnel. By wrapping tape around the head of the screwdriver, he could avoid the risk of a stray spark if the blade slipped and scraped on the stone surround. He began to work at the top hinge. The metal flaked, rust already doing much of the work for Colby. After working at the hinge for just a few minutes, the cheap metal flaked away into nothing and the hinge disintegrated. Colby grunted. "Man, they spend all that money and time on stainless steel shutters and they use mild steel hinges?"

"Probably don't have a degree in engineering like you do, Granger!" Tim grinned at his friend.

"Education is important, Tim. Stay in school." Colby grinned back and started working on the second hinge. "Check your monitors, guys. They start bleepin', you start runnin', clear? I don't know if this access tunnel's been vented. If not, we pull out and wait for them to pop up on the outside and then we play whack a moley, okay?"

"Copy that, boss." The three men nodded. The second hinge gave way under Colby's persistence and the door clanked. Colby held it in place with one hand and pressed his comms. "Ian, we're ready to move in."

_"Copy that. I think they're running out of snipers, Col. We've taken five down. Unknown how many more there are, but it shouldn't be too crowded in there."_

"Copy that, Ian. On my mark, guys. Remember, one bleep from the monitors and we abort. Three, two, one…_mark_!" Colby lifted the metal door clear of the access point and all four men turned away from the opening. They waited for a second as the air from the side tunnel spilled into the main sewer pipe. The monitors pinned to their jackets stayed silent and the men breathed a collective sigh of relief. The tunnel had already been vented. Colby grinned broadly. "Right then. Let's go see who's at home, shall we?"

The four men crawled into the narrow tunnel and forward for about ten meters. Tim was still on point and kept looking up at the roof of the tunnel. He stopped and motioned up. Above his head was a square access point leading up into the house. He could see a crack of light outlining the access point. The tunnel itself went on for another couple of meters where a narrow conduit connected with it. The conduit snaked along the floor of the tunnel and past the four men's feet. That was the vent for the lab. The access point above them was the escape panel for anyone inside the house. Tim crawled past the access point and, with difficulty and a few muttered curses, turned around to face Colby. As soon as he was in position, he gave Colby a thumb's up. They only had one shot at this. It was a difficult manoeuvre, and one that was made even more awkward in the cramped conditions. The only advantage they had in the first few seconds was the element of surprise. The perps wouldn't be expecting anyone to come in through the floor…

Colby moved into position, folding his legs awkwardly underneath him and struggling up into a crouched kneeling position underneath the trap door. He glanced around. The three men had all shifted into positions that would allow them to move as quickly as possible once the access point was open. Colby would be first through the door, so he needed to get at least some idea as to what he was going into. It could be an empty room. On the other hand it could be full of gun-toting nutters whacked out on meth and ready to blow his head off the second he emerged from the access point.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a tiny camera on a metal flexitube. Micky had made a USB attachment that meant he could use his smart phone as a screen, seeing everything the camera saw. He fitted the connection to his phone and tapped the screen. Colby briefly checked to make sure that the camera was working and grinned. "Mick, remind me to mention you in despatches, bud!" He whispered quietly and grinned at his English friend. Micky grinned back and gave him a thumb's up. "Okay, let's see what we've got." He carefully pushed up a corner of the access cover and poked the camera through, keeping it close to the ground. All he needed to see were feet and ankles, where they were and how many there were of them. He scanned the room, staring intently at the screen on his smart phone. They were in luck. The room was empty…

Colby extracted the camera and gave the good to go sign to the three men. He held up one finger, two fingers, three fingers...

Colby pushed the access panel out of the way and shot out of the hole like a scolded rabbit. Rolling to one side, he was instantly on his feet and scanning the room with the business end of his FMP90. Within seconds, the other three men were out of the hole and covering the room. Colby motioned to the door and they fanned out, moving silently. Colby reached for his comms and gave three clicks. In the house, Ian and Doug immediately knew that the team was in the building. They concentrated on the windows, ready to take down any snipers that appeared.

The four-man team moved silently into the main corridor, listening intently for any conversations that would tell them where the remaining perps were hiding out. Danny Smith moved towards the front door and unlocked it silently, opening the heavy steel door just a fraction. Outside, the SWAT teams saw the door open and immediately moved into position, ready to burst in. Danny fell back out of the way of potential friendly fire and gave Colby a thumb's up. Colby motioned to Tim to move left. He pointed to Micky and then the stairs. Micky moved to the foot of the stairs and held his position. Danny was covering right. Colby hissed into his comms, "Execute, execute, execute!"

The four men sprinted in different directions as the SWAT team burst through the opened door. In seconds, the remaining meth lab occupants were subdued and on their knees, taken totally by surprise. The big men dressed entirely in black had seemed to materialise from nowhere like terrifying and heavily armed ghosts, screaming like banshees and holding some very impressive ordnance. Colby pushed his gas mask off his face and grinned as Don and David burst through the door behind SWAT. "They're all yours, buddy."

Don lowered his gun as he watched the SWAT team shackling the meth lab occupants. He chuckled at Colby. "Good job, Col!"

Colby shrugged. "All in a day's work, right?" He pressed his comms button. "House is secure. Stand down, Ian."

_"Copy that."_

The men glanced up as Micky trotted down the stairs, pushing a sobbing, shackled man in front of him. A damp stain on the front of his pants was spreading down his legs and he stumbled on the stairs. Micky gave him another shove. "Found this little bugger hiding in a wardrobe clutching a grenade."

"Mick, what did you do to him?" Colby raised an eyebrow and tried desperately to stop himself from laughing. The man looked horrified and was jabbering and pleading in a torrent of Spanish.

"Nothing! Just shouted BOO! at him when I opened the door."

"Next time bud? Don't shout boo at nervous people holding grenades. _Especially _in meth labs. It could go _real _bad."

"Understood, boss." Micky grinned and handed the man over to an FBI agent. The agent wrinkled his nose and held the urine-soaked man at arm's length as he led him out of the house.

Colby looked around and hoisted the FMP90 across his back. "Okay Don, I better get my team outta here before the network vans start turning up."

Don nodded. MIT was an undercover operations team. They didn't want any publicity and they would all prefer to keep their faces out of the media. This collar would be credited to Violent Crimes. MIT's involvement in the operation would be attributed to SWAT and Colby's team would remain anonymous. It's how they operated and it suited everyone to keep it like that. "Okay bud. Nice job, boys. I'll see you back at the Bullpen."

"Thanks, Don. Okay guys, lets go get some breakfast, shall we?" The men all grinned and headed out of the house, making sure to cover their faces with the gas masks again before they headed out into the bright sunlit morning. Across the street, two more figures in black exited the house opposite and the six men headed towards the two Range Rovers. A moment later, the two black vehicles drove away from the scene just as the first network vans rolled in…

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It had been a long day. Colby sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, trying to stay focused on the mountain of paperwork that threatened to overwhelm his normally tidy desk. The excitement of the meth lab bust first thing that morning had been quickly tempered with Team Leader briefings, intelligence analysis and endless reports, all demanding his immediate attention. He covered his face with his hands and groaned quietly. The fieldwork he could cope with. Meth labs that had been turned into steel-lined fortresses he could cope with. Crawling through fume filled tunnels he could cope with. The filing, however, was another matter…

"Hey buddy. You look…um…yeah." David stood over his friend and tried not to laugh. He knew full well that his best friend _hated_ the mundane and soul-destroying inevitability of the FBI's paperchain system. He'd struggled with it himself to begin with. When he had been promoted to Don's relief supervisor, David had been unprepared for the amount of bureaucracy that accompanied the promotion. It looked like Colby was feeling the same way…

Colby groaned again and looked up at his friend. "You laugh and I'll kick your ass, my friend!"

"Me? Laugh? Never!" David made one more valiant attempt to disguise the mirth that threatened to burst out.

Colby scowled at the smirking man. "Seriously man, what is _with _all this?" He waved a hand at the reams of paper that lay scattered across his desk.

"You can't be just goin' around kicking doors in all day, Col. You'd get bored."

"No. No, I wouldn't. Really. I _like _goin' around kicking doors in!"

David gave in and laughed out loud. "You'll get a handle on it, I promise." He glanced at his watch. "But working until the small hours of the morning ain't gonna help. C'mon man, you've had a long day. And there's another one ahead of you tomorrow. I'm going for a beer. Wanna come with and bore me rigid with how you're getting bogged down in form eight oh three?"

Colby chuckled quietly and nodded. "Yeah. There's nothin' here that can't wait until the morning. You're buying."

David shook his head. "Like hell I am!" Colby held out a fist and raised an eyebrow. David sighed and matched his fist. After three shakes, David scowled. "Every time, man. Every _damn time_!"

Colby giggled and stood up, throwing his jacket casually over his shoulder. "Bud, you _always _go for scissors. Rock beats scissors every time. You should talk to Charlie about brushing up on your Ro-Sham-Bo strategy."

"You cheat."

"How do you _cheat_ at Ro-Sham-Bo?"

"I dunno, but you do!"

Colby laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder. "C'mon, man. I'll bitch about the paperwork and you can bitch about me kickin' your ass at kiddie's games every time!" They walked towards the elevator, waving goodnight at the few who were still working on their own mountains of paperwork...

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On a Tuesday evening the bar wasn't very crowded, and the two agents quickly got their beers and found a comfortable booth. Colby held up the bottle and David clinked his own against it. "Here's to figuring out the intricacies of form eight oh three!" Colby grinned and took a mouthful of beer. David chuckled quietly and swigged at his own bottle. Colby glanced at his friend and frowned. "You okay, bud? Seems like it's more than our archaic paperwork system that's botherin' ya."

"Yeah, I'm okay." David rubbed a hand over his face. "Just pissed about that meth lab this morning."

"Any word on Dom and Chris?"

"Dom's gonna make it. Chris? They're not sure. He's in a pretty bad way."

"Shit." Colby was quiet for a moment. "How come the intel was so damn wrong, David? I mean, Claymores in the goddamn yard? Steel shutters? How was _that _missed?"

"We had to go on the intel we had, bud. Obviously, it wasn't complete." David shook his head and frowned again. "Seems to have been happening a lot lately. Ya know. Gaps in the intel, leads that go nowhere."

Colby stared intently at his friend. He sensed there was more to his friend's demeanour than just a botched raid on a meth lab…"David?"

"Huh?"

"Somethin' _else _botherin' you?"

"No. Why?"

"Just you seemed to be a bit…distracted." Colby took another mouthful of beer. His green eyes didn't leave his friend, studying every micro-expression that flickered across David's face.

"I dunno, brother. It just seems like the dynamics have changed, ya know?"

"What, you mean with me having my own team now?"

"Colby, nobody deserves that promotion more than you. But you were damn important to us, bud, and now we have to share you with everyone else."

Colby laughed quietly. "And let me guess. You ain't used to sharing your toys, right?"

"Col, c'mon, man, that's not what I meant! I just think it's gonna take a little time for everyone to get used to the fact that you're not just _Colby_ any more. We've got our very own Captain America in the team now!"

Colby, right in the middle of taking another swig from the beer bottle, snorted and covered his mouth with one hand, desperately trying not to spray beer everywhere. He swallowed quickly, coughing and spluttering as the beer fizzed in his throat and laughed. "Captain _America_? Oh, c'mon David!"

David grinned broadly at his friend. He'd missed this. It had been a while since he and Colby had just hung out together, gently teasing one another and just being the good friends that they had always been. "You shoulda seen yourself out there today, bud. You took an impossible situation and resolved it in a few minutes flat. Don was real proud of ya. So was I."

Colby smiled awkwardly. "Thanks man. That means a lot to me."

David grinned again and raised his bottle in salute. "To Captain America!"

"Dude, seriously. Don't call me that!" Colby scowled but raised his bottle to meet David's salute. They both drank deeply and a moment's silence fell across the table. Colby glanced up at his friend. "David, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure you're okay with everything? Ya know. I mean…_us_."

"Colby, I've told you before and I'll tell you again. I am _not _gonna date you! You're not my type!" David frowned in mock annoyance.

Colby chuckled and shook his head. "Nah man, no offence but you neither, and besides, I think Dee might have something to say about that anyway, wouldn't she?"

David laughed and nodded. "Yeah. Claudia would be kinda pissed too!"

"How is Claudia?"

"She's good. Dee?"

"In Dubai."

David gave his friend a questioning look. "Dubai? What's she doing there?"

Colby shrugged. "Ah, there's a major international arms fair goin' on. She's out there keeping an eye on a couple of targets. We've had some intelligence from London, _good _intelligence, bud, not like that steaming pile of crap you guys had from LAPD this morning. Six believes that a target could be setting up a major deal in LA. Our people agree. Thing is, this guy's got connections to our security services, so he's been red flagged as a person of interest."

David paused, the beer bottle hovering in front of his lips. "Mind me asking what the dude's name is?"

"Stobbard. Richard Stobbard. He's a Brit." Colby swigged at his beer. David slowly put his bottle down and studied his friend intently. Colby looked puzzled. "What?"

David leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "Col, when I was in Washington heading up the anti-corruption team, we investigated a major arms dealing network that had links with senior agents in the FBI. We brought down two guys who were dirty, but there were suspicions that there was a third man. Someone we never managed to track down. Stobbard's name kept cropping up. Thing is, all his dealings were on the East Coast, and on the surface they seemed fully legit. There was no connection to LA. Well, none that we knew about."

Colby frowned. "Okay… well, logic says that if you guys shut the East Coast operation down, he'd try to find new partners somewhere else. LA's pretty much ground zero for international arms deals, man, you know that. Well, after London, that is. The Brits practically invented the arms trade. Ironic, really. For a country that hates handguns, they sure as hell make a good living out of selling them to everyone else."

"Yeah, but what would Charlie say about those odds, Colby? That you're investigating the same guy?"

"Arms dealers are not like drug dealers, David. Pretty much everyone knows who the key players are. It likes to portray itself as a _respectable _business, buddy."

"But Col, we never found out who he was working with in Washington, it was just dead end after dead end! We were pretty sure someone on the inside was blocking the investigation every chance they got, we just couldn't figure out who or why. And now all of a sudden there's an LA connection popping up outa nowhere?"

"You sure you're not just seein' something that ain't there, David?"

"C'mon Granger, you're an intelligence expert! You ask what would Charlie say about the odds, what do _you _say about them?"

Colby was quiet for a minute, frowning in concentration. Eventually he glanced up at his friend. "I'd say it might be an idea for you to have a good long chat with Dee when she gets back from Dubai. Seems to me we could do with an exchange of information here. If there _is_ something in it, then we can start looking for connections. Join the dots up."

David smiled at his friend. "Thanks, man. I dunno, I've just got one of those gut feelings about this, ya know?"

Colby grinned. "I've never known one of your gut feelings to be wrong, bud."

The two men finished a couple more beers, chatting about general office gossip and just enjoying a rare chance to chill out together as old friends. It had been a while since they'd been able to do it, and both relished the opportunity to strengthen the bond that existed between them.

Eventually Colby glanced at his watch and grimaced. "Oh _man_, listen David, I gotta run. I said I'd do an MMA practice session with Tim King at the gym. Crazy bastard's got a fight this weekend and he needs someone to practice his grappling techniques with. He's asked me to spar with him 'cause of my wrestling experience. It's actually a real laugh, bro! You should try it sometime…ah, nope, actually? Forget that. Maybe not really your style, huh?" Colby grinned mischievously at his friend and drained the last drops of beer from his bottle.

David looked at his friend in disbelief. "You're weird, you do know that, right?"

Colby shrugged. "What can I say? I've always enjoyed a damn good grapple! You're the one who's the dashing urbanite, buddy. Me? I'm just a simple country boy. We don't mind getting down and dirty for a bit of fun!"

David snorted. "Pah! Simple country boy, my ass, Granger! And I can get down and dirty with the best of them! It's just that I only got this suit dry cleaned yesterday!"

Colby let out a shout of laughter. "I rest my case. New York urbanite!"

"Idaho country boy!"

Colby chuckled. "Diff'rent strokes, buddy. Look, Dee's due back tomorrow. As soon as she gets in, I'll tell her to come talk to you about Stobbard. In the meantime it might be worth going back over your old files from Washington, see if there's something that could help. You say that you think it was an insider doing the blocking, so you got someone in DC you can trust?"

"Yeah. I'll get the files sent over first thing tomorrow morning."

"Cool. Probably wise to do it quietly, David. Ya know. Just in case. In the meantime, I'll speak to Dee in Dubai and see if she can up her surveillance on Stobbard and liase with Six. See what the Brits come up with."

David nodded and finished his beer. "Sound's good, Col. I'll see you in the morning."

Colby stood up and pulled his jacket on. "Don't worry, David. If there's something to find, I promise you we'll find it." He patted his friend on the shoulder and walked out of the bar.

David watched him go, chuckling quietly to himself. His friend had changed so much over the years, from the hot-headed rookie that nearly got them both killed facing down a Vietnamese biker gang on the second week through to a relaxed, confident and highly capable team leader. But he was still 'Colby' – still his best friend and still the one man he trusted above anyone else to watch his back. He knew that if Colby said he'd look into it, you could be damn sure that the tenacious, stubborn-headed man wouldn't stop digging until he'd found something.

David stood up and started to put on his jacket when his cell-phone rang. He glanced at his watch and swore. Dinner was probably getting cold and there would be one irate mortician to pacify with flowers and his best disarming smile…"Claudia. Damn it!" He flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear and put on his most convincing, soothing voice. "Hey baby! I was just gonna call you…"

"_Agent David Sinclair?"_

David frowned. That was _not _Claudia's voice…"Um, yes?"

_"There are certain people who are very displeased with the way you handled things in Washington, David. Don't think that moving back to LA will give you any measure of protection, my friend. I strongly suggest that you watch your back. And DON'T start anything you can't finish."_

David scowled furiously. "Who is this?"

_"Someone who would hate to see a good agent's career cut unexpectedly short, Agent Sinclair…"_

"Are you _threatening _me, you son of a bitch?"

"_No, Agent Sinclair. I'm WARNING you." _The connection was abruptly terminated.

"Hello? _Hello_? Shit!" David snapped the phone shut and looked around the bar. He suddenly felt very naked, very vulnerable and _very _exposed…

_**TBC…**_


	2. False Impressions

Disclaimer:

We're off travelling the world in this chapter, so please have your passports and boarding passes ready and if the little light pings on, please return the stewardess to the upright position. As always, I have nothing to do with anyfink 'officially' Numb3rs, but do own the rights to the story, the Brit-Pack characters (except Lucas North, he belongy BBC) and have personally paid a bleedin' fortune for the charter for this jolly old jaunt so buckle up, kiddos, we could hit turbulence!

Usual warning applies for bad language, a very brief 'Spooks' crossover, some rather graphic violence and some really sneaky Ju Jitsu and Aikido moves (this chapter is dedicated to my Krav Maga instructor, Carl. The sneakiest bastard on God's green little Earth and currently getting his arse royally kicked by enormous Bulgarians while representing GB at the World Pankration Championships…GO ALL KRAV ON THEIR ARSES, CARL!)

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**33333333333333333333**

_Dubai International Arms Fair…_

The conference centre was packed. Businessmen wandered from stand to stand, shaking hands, exchanging cards, bumping smart phones to transfer their contact details onto their new associate's list of 'people to call later' and generally keeping the cogs of international commerce spinning. If it wasn't for the terrifying array of ordnance on display, it could have been any trade fair in any conference centre anywhere in the world. The arms business _did _have an air of respectability, and it meant to keep it that way.

Guns were big business. Those attending this open display of the world's finest killing machines weren't from some tinpot little dictatorships looking for a few Chinese knock-off Kalashnikovs. These were insanely rich men whose jet set lifestyle would be the envy of any Hollywood A-list celebrity. The champagne flowed and the chatter was convivial. Huge deals worth millions of dollars were done and contracts were signed. The public face of the arms trade was casual, relaxed and enjoying the welcoming atmosphere created by those who wanted to keep their borders – and their oil – safe. This was a centre filled with people who truly believed that guns didn't kill people, _people _killed people. The guns were merely devices, like the latest iPod or a drainage pump. Mechanical 'things' without a conscience, without a soul but with a hefty price tag that only the rich could afford and one that the poor usually ended up paying. The end user certificates were merely a formality. What happened _after _the guns reached their final destination – well, that was somebody else's problem.

But look underneath the false impressions, the guarded smiles and the handshakes and the darker underbelly of dealing in death showed itself. The place was crawling with private security guards, all of them in the standard uniform of black suits, sunglasses and comms wires in their ears. Their continual scans of the centre spoke of strict orders from their masters to make sure unwanted approaches were courteously but, if necessary, _forcefully_ re-directed. Bulges under their jackets hinted at previous transactions and some seriously heavy duty hardware being carried as casually as you would carry a wallet and cell phone. Every major country had their own security forces there including MI6, the CIA and Mossad. Words were chosen carefully in case a casual remark was taken as an insult and blew a deal wide open. It was like walking on very expensive eggshells…

From a quiet corner, Diane Armstrong watched the scene in front of her. A wealthy Arab walked past her, accompanied by four heavily built bodyguards, all European and all with that characteristic strut adopted by bodyguards the world over. She watched the Arab as he passed by, giving him a courteous nod as he glanced towards the well-dressed, red haired woman. He disregarded her greeting and carried on walking. She was a woman. She was of no importance and obviously not a threat. He didn't deal with women. His security guards followed his brief glance and studied her a little more intently than their charge had done. In an instant they dismissed her. Probably just somebody's PA…

Diane watched the retreating backs of the security guards and their Arab 'mark' and snorted. "Bloody amateurs…"

_"Dee? Problem?"_ In the command van, Marcus Walker waited anxiously for a reply.

Diane turned towards the wall, covering her quiet conversation into the mike disguised as a broach on the lapel of her suit jacket. "Nah. Just getting checked out by a couple of Rent-A-Goons. No problem."

_"Any sign of Stobbard?"_

"Negative." Diane threw a furtive look over her shoulder at the nearest stand advertising the latest in sniper rifle telescopic sights. "No sign of him so far."

"_Keep your eyes peeled."_

Diane frowned. "Wanna teach me how to suck eggs while you're at it, lads?" She turned back to the melee in front of her and muttered quietly into the mike. "Taking a wander. This is a crappy obs point. Lucas, back off a bit, mate. You're ghosting the Ukrainian a bit close."

"_Copy that." _Lucas North shifted position, giving his Ukrainian mark a bit more room. The British agent was on 'special duty' on loan from Five. His experience in the international arms trade was proving invaluable to their investigation into Stobbard. He was damn good at his job and knew perfectly well that on this operation Diane was lead agent.

Diane straightened her suit jacket and walked into the crowd, studying faces carefully. The tiny camera fitted to the bridge of her glasses gave the boys back at command a close up view of the faces in the crowd. Each one was logged and cross referenced. All the big players were here. She'd already identified two persons of interest. But no sign of their primary target yet…

"_Dee, three o'clock. By the stand selling RPGs."_

Diane looked towards the stand. Chatting casually to the proprietor of rocket propelled grenade launchers stood an elegantly dressed man. The expensive suit, shoes and a tie that probably cost more than Diane earned in a month marked him out as a buyer. Perfectly manicured fingers curled around a bone china tea cup and he sipped at the drink as he chatted with the seller. They seemed like old friends, yet Diane could see that each man was watching the other like a hawk. Appearances were deceptive in this game. Everyone was guarded, careful what they said and acutely aware of everyone and everything around them. It was a surveillance nightmare, and one that called for experience, a cool head and lightning quick reactions. Diane studied the man. "Target acquired. Gonna go play pin the tail on the donkey. Stand by."

_"He's got two goons with him. Blonde haired guy to the left of the stand. Another one by the water cooler. They've got all approaches covered, Dee."_ Marcus Walker kept the directions clean, concise and simple.

_"I've got goon one covered."_ Lucas North's voice crackled in her ear.

"Copy that. Thanks Lucas." Diane hissed into the mike and started to walk towards Stobbard. They needed to get the tracking device onto the man's clothing without being noticed. A 'walk by', innocently brushing against the target, would give Dee the opportunity to quickly press the minute device onto the collar of his jacket. The size of a pinhead, the tracking device would look like a spec of dust, unnoticed by human eyes or electronic sweepers. Diane straightened her jacket one more time and fixed a subtle smile onto her face. With a couple of goons in tow, a walk by would be almost impossible to execute without being noticed. She had to use a different tact.

Stobbard was engrossed in his conversation with the RPG seller and didn't notice the tall, elegantly dressed woman until she gently touched his elbow. He turned abruptly to stare into two of the deepest green eyes he'd ever seen. The woman smiled charmingly at him. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, sir." She looked past Stobbard and at the seller. "Do you have a business card I could have? My client is rather interested in your wares."

The seller studied the elegant woman and smiled disarmingly at her, giving Stobbard a quick conspiratorial wink. "Have to keep the ladies happy, don't we sir?" He smiled a toothy grin and held a card out.

Diane leaned in, brushing against Stobbard and muttering an apology. "Seems it's a bit of a tight squeeze around here, isn't it?" She smiled at Stobbard, her green eyes boring deep into the man's own brown ones. He could smell her perfume as she leaned across to take the business card from the fingers of the seller. He didn't feel the slight pressure on his collar as Diane skilfully pressed the tracking device to the underside of the material. Her walk by was carefully disguised from any prying eyes by Lucas, who was standing between her and goon number one and busy asking in fluent Russian if the goon knew where the toilets were.

Goon number two, still at his station by the watercooler, frowned but couldn't see what was going on. He shifted his position, straining to see above the sea of heads milling around in front of him and trying to determine if the dark haired man and the tall woman with red hair and, he had to admit, a _great _ass, offered any kind of a threat to his mark. But before he could come to a decision the dark haired man had moved away and the woman seemed to be engaged in polite conversation with his paymaster. He relaxed, totally unaware that he had actually witnessed a perfectly executed walk by manoeuvre by two of the best British agents in the business.

Diane stood back, the dazzling smile still on her face. "Thank you so much. Again, my apologies for interrupting, my client is leaving shortly and unfortunately doesn't have time to talk to as many people as he would like. But you can be certain Mr Savani that he _will _be in contact with you."

Diane put the card in her jacket pocket and turned away, giving Stobbard one last glance. Stobbard adjusted his tie and discarded the cup and saucer on a convenient table top. "Excuse me, would you Mr Savani? I'll be back in _two_ seconds!"

Savani stared open-mouthed as Stobbard dashed after the tall, red haired woman. His mouth snapped closed and he frowned, glowering after the woman who had managed to distract Stobbard _right _in the middle of a buy…

"Miss? Um…excuse me, _Miss_?"

_"Dee, target is approaching behind you…_" Lucas watched the approaching Stobbard like a hawk, ready to move if things got silly…

"Shit…" Diane spoke quietly into her mike. "Stand by, Lucas. Distress word is Mexico…" Diane kept walking, heading for the exit. She didn't really want to get too embroiled in a conversation with Stobbard if she could help it…

Stobbard caught up with the tall woman and laid a hand on her shoulder. Diane stopped abruptly and turned around. In one smooth move, her hand was on top of his and she grabbed the fingers, twisting his wrist back the wrong way and pulling his hand down towards her hip. Stobbard winced as the wristlock ground his bones together and he bent to one side making fish-like gasping noises. The movement had been so quick and smooth that he had been taken totally by surprise. Diane looked down on the bent man, who glanced up at her with pleading eyes. "It's not wise to go creeping up behind people and invading their personal space at an _arms _fair, mate." Diane's eyes bored into him and she gave one last quick jerk before releasing the man's hand, just to prove a point. The small jerk sent a shockwave of pain up Stobbard's arm. He stood upright, clutching his twisted fingers and staring in disbelief at the woman.

To Stobbard's credit, he quickly managed to regain his composure and smiled warmly at Diane. He held a hand up, stopping the two goons who had reacted slowly to the 'threat' on their client. He'd speak to them later…"Then let me be the first to apologise for making the mistake of invading _your _personal space, madam. I…um, I shan't make that mistake twice."

"Good. Was there something you wanted?"

"I see your momentary slip into your native, I'm guessing, _Mile End _accent has returned to it's more neutral tones, um…" He raised an eyebrow in what he sincerely believed to be true 007 style. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…"

"No, you didn't, did you? Kudos on placing the accent, Professor Higgins, but if you'll excuse me…"

"Have dinner with me." Stobbard interrupted Diane in mid sentence.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know you, you're not my type and I have a plane to catch."

"To where?" Stobbard wasn't letting go that easy. This woman fascinated him. He had a thing for red heads and her fiery display of a perfectly executed Shio-Nage Aikido wristlock had him _very _interested indeed. She must be an absolute _tigress _between the sheets…

"Are you some kind of newbie to this, mate? Did you not read Arms Dealing for Dummies? Chapter one, paragraph one, _line _one says if you want to stay alive, don't ask too many questions!"

In the hall, Lucas chuckled quietly to himself as he listened to Stobbard's attempts at chatting up one of the most dangerous women the man was ever likely to meet…

"Just tell me your name. Please?" Stobbard unleashed another dazzling smile at the intriguing woman.

"Alex."

"Alex, I'm Richard. Richard Stobbard. And it's _interesting _to meet you. Now. Have dinner with me. You name the place. Paris, London, New York…"

In her earpiece, Diane could hear her colleagues going nuts. This wasn't in the playbook… But the thing about undercover work is that you had to go with the tools you had. Right now, Diane had Stobbard eating out of the palm of her hand. He was interested in her – _very _interested. It could be an ideal opportunity to get closer to the man and find out far more than they had anticipated about his dealings…

Diane gave Stobbard a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "LA."

"So the city of Angels is missing one of its own heavenly hosts, huh?" Stobbard turned on his best 'come to papa' smile. "Well, it just so happens that I have business in LA next week. How about Friday night, eight o'clock, Wilshire Restaurant? On Wilshire Boulevard? Do you know it?"

"I know it."

Stobbard's smile broadened. It never failed. No matter how 'tough' a woman was, he could always have them begging for it in seconds. 'Alex' might be a challenge, but Stobbard liked feisty women. It made the victory all the sweeter… "I look forward to it." He gave her a knowing wink and turned away, back to finish his deal with Savani.

Diane watched him walk away and shuddered briefly. She snarled quietly into the mike. "Lucas, one smartarse comment from you and I'll tell Harry Pierce you're a double agent for the Russians!" She heard Lucas chuckle quietly.

_"Wouldn't dream of it, Dee!"_

Diane walked out of the hotel and towards the conference centre parking lot. In the far corner, a black van sat, its dark windows disguising the bank of equipment that lined the inside. Diane climbed quickly into the back of the van and ripped her earpiece out. She sat down on a small seat and put her head in her hands.

"What were you _thinking_, Dee?" Marcus Walker glared at her. He was sweating profusely. There was no air conditioning in the van and the heat was stifling.

"Had to think on my feet, mate. No choice. Anyway, this way I can liase with our friends in the US and track him there. We know now that he's got a business deal in LA next week. Seeing as the bugger's in the arms business, we're pretty sure it's not going to be exactly legit, right? You want me to build up a case against this toe-rag or what? Look, the bloke's a creep, but if I can get close to him I might be able to find out who he's dealing with in the States as well as in London." She glanced at her watch. "I've gotta make a call. Just keep watching Stobbard and let me know if he moves." Diane stood up carefully and reached behind her, opening the door and letting a blast of super-heated Dubai air into the van. She stepped out into the dazzling sunlight and swapped the reconnaissance glasses for a pair of ordinary sunglasses.

Strolling across the car park, she pulled out her cell phone and hit a speed-dial number…

33333333

"C'mon Tim, is that the best you've _got_?" Colby stood on the mat, breathing heavily, bare footed and dressed in loose jogging bottoms and a tee shirt. His hands were encased in leather grappling gloves and he was drenched in sweat. Opposite him, Tim King stood bent over with his hands resting on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. Tim glanced up at Colby and smirked.

"Bud, I haven't even warmed up yet!"

Colby grinned broadly. "Really. So that wheezing is just asthma then, right?"

"Fuck you, Granger!" Tim stood up, stretched his neck muscles with a jerk of his head and took up a fighting stance again. "Try putting that one past me again. See what happens…"

Colby chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Man, you just _won't learn_, will you? Okay, it's your ass that's getting' whooped here, Jarhead. You want some more?"

"Oh, bring it on, _pussycat_!" Tim grinned and launched himself at Colby, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks. Colby side-stepped the onslaught and grabbed Tim around the waist, pivoted and slammed him into the ground. He fell across him, wound his right arm around Tim's left leg and held on tight, matching Tim's counter moves until it looked like they were both playing a particularly nasty game of full-contact Twister.

Suddenly a sharp buzz from the phone lying on a bench that ran alongside the gym told Colby that he had a call. He disentangled himself from Tim. "Time out!" Colby wandered over to the bench, stretching his back and wincing. A couple of Tim's kidney punches had found their mark and he rubbed at his side. Tim lay spread-eagled on the floor, thankful for the time out just to catch his breath again.

Colby flipped open his phone. "Granger…"

_"Hey you. You sound out of breath. What's her name? Is she prettier than me?"_

Colby laughed. "Hey baby! Her name's Tim, she's butt-ugly and she's crap at Ju Jitsu!" On the floor, Tim lay panting. He shakily raised up his hand and stretched out his middle finger in time-honoured tradition, flipping the bird at his boss. Colby responded in kind with a broad grin.

In the car park of the Dubai conference centre, Diane laughed merrily. "Give him an arse-whooping, baby! After that comment last weekend about my surfing abilities, he deserves it!"

Back in the gym, Colby looked across at the prone figure of Tim King and nodded. "Hey Tim? Dee says I'm to kick your ass." Tim just waved an arm in defeat and Colby turned back to the conversation chuckling. "Tim says okay."

_"Tell him he's a flakeout!"_

"She says you're a flakeout, Tim!"

"Tell her she's a limey bitch who can't surf!"

"Oh, _hell _no! You can tell her that one yourself!" Colby laughed again and focused back on Dee. "You okay, baby?"

"_Yeah. Pretty straightforward job. Hotel's nice, food's good, it's BLOODY hot and my mark just made a pass at me."_

"He _what_?"

_"Long story. Listen, do me a favour would you? Can you do a deep background on anyone Richard Stobbard knows over in Los Angeles for me? He's gonna be in LA next week and I'd like to know who his known associates are."_

Colby's face immediately turned serious. "Babes, I need to talk to you about Stobbard. There could be an angle we didn't know about before. One that concerns me."

_"Like what?"_

"Like one that I need to talk to you in person about. When are you due back?"

_"I'm catching a red-eye tonight. I should be in LAX tomorrow morning."_

"Okay, I'll start on the background checks."

"_Colby? Something I should know about?"_

"Not over the phone, baby."

_"Understood."_

"So I'll see you…_OOOF!"_ Colby flew backwards as Tim barrelled into him, grabbing him around the waist and slamming him onto the mat. The impact knocked the wind out of Colby's lungs and Tim took advantage of the momentary distraction to pull a sneaky move on his boss, pinning his legs to the ground and putting a particularly forceful lock on Colby's right elbow.

_"Colby? You okay? COLBY?"_

Colby lay on the ground with a grinning Tim King pinning him down. He still had the phone clutched in his left hand. Colby glowered at Tim and slowly brought the phone to his ear. He puffed heavily and gasped into the speaker. "Yeah, I'm…OW_! FUCK! _I'm good. Look, I'm a bit tied up right now, can I call you back later? OW!"

In the car park, Diane chuckled merrily. "Tim just slam-dunked you, didn't he? Okay, sweetie, I'll let you get back to your workout. Love you!"

"_Love you too baby! TIM, GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YOU MANIAC! I SAID TIME OUT!"_

Diane laughed again as the sounds of two men trying to beat each other senseless crackled through the ear piece of the phone. She snapped the phone shut and headed for her hotel room to pack…

333333333

_The Colombian jungle, 50km south of Santa Marta…_

The guard wandered listlessly along the track, a Kalashnikov slung over one shoulder. Down below the path, the cocaine factory was churning out enough marching powder to keep a dealer in goods for the rest of his life. Trucks bumped along the pathway into the compound, passing the heavily armed guards at the gate and the dog patrols that wandered around the camp. Juan looked down at the camp. Just another hot, humid day. They'd had a fly-over by the American DEA last week and the Boss was jumpy. Juan had been told to keep his eyes peeled. Otherwise someone would peel them _for _him…

The humidity of the jungle soaked into everything. Juan's clothes stuck to him, drenched in sweat and stinking of the coca leaves that he'd helped to unload a couple of hours ago from the latest trucks to arrive. Now he was on patrol and it gave him a chance to sneak a crafty cigarette.

He sat down on a tree stump and leaned the Kalashnikov against the side of the rotting wood. He pulled out a battered packet of Marlboros from his breast pocket and shook one loose from the crumpled packet. The guards had been told specifically _not _to smoke American brand cigarettes while on patrol. The smell carried for miles. Juan couldn't care less. He hadn't been paid for three months. He was on the verge of walking through the jungle back to his village and returning to a life of drudgery and back-breaking farm work. The rewards he'd been promised working for one of Colombia's most powerful drug barons hadn't materialised. Juan was deeply disenchanted with the drugs business…

He glanced down both directions of the track to make sure nobody was about and flipped open the Zippo lighter. He scraped the wheel and a bright orange flame danced and flickered in the thick afternoon heat.

He never did get to finish that last cigarette…

Behind the seated figure of Juan reared up a monstrosity dressed in green BDUs, his face covered with camouflage paint. The dull blue-grey blade of the battle knife flashed briefly and Juan felt a powerful hand clamp across his mouth. He didn't have time to scream. The knife went into his throat just below the right ear and ripped outwards, severing the windpipe and arteries in one move. He was dead before the man in camouflage lowered him carefully to the ground. The commando turned around and gave a wave to the bushes behind him. In seconds, several camouflaged figures materialised out of the jungle. The only part that was recognisable as human were the eyes. Every other part of the men was carefully hidden in jungle camouflage, allowing them to blend in seamlessly with their surroundings. The man indicated left and right and his colleagues trotted off in different directions. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a radio. "Clear."

_"We are a go."_

The man pushed the radio back into his pocket and trotted off down the track towards the compound…

Fifty meters from the compound a razor-wire fence buzzed with high voltage electricity. The guards inside had got complacent. They believed that not only was their encampment well hidden, but it was well defended too. The dogs, panting in the thick afternoon heat, suddenly sat up, listening intently and letting out a deep grumbling growl. Their snarls alerted the guards, who turned their attention to the surrounding jungle.

"What is it?" A man in cream chinos strolled up to one of the guards.

"The dogs. They are nervous, señor."

"Dogs are always nervous. Check it out. It's probably just a Tapir. If it is, shoot it. They're good eating!"

"Si, señor." The guard wandered over to the power switch for the fence and flipped it off. He strolled back to where his dog was still growling angrily at the jungle beyond the fence and peered into the thick greenery. It took him a few seconds to realise that staring straight back at him were two eyes that definitely did _not _belong to a Tapir. His own eyes widened in alarm and he opened his mouth to shout a warning. The shot took him straight in the centre of the forehead and he fell back, dead. The dog went nuts for a few seconds before a second shot silenced its furious barking with a sharp yelp.

The camp erupted.

In the space of a few seconds a huge gun battle had broken out, the guards inside the compound shooting randomly into the jungle. A guard sprinted towards the hut that sat squat in the centre of the camp and burst through the door. "Señor Marco! We are under attack!"

Marco Lopez leapt to his feet, a furious snarl on his face. "WHO?"

"Gringos, señor!"

Lopez snatched up a Beretta 9mm and ran out of the hut into a firestorm. Five bullets pounded into his body before he'd reached the top step of the hut and he fell backwards, his white shirt now stained cherry red with his own blood. A shadow fell over the dying man and he looked up into two blue eyes boring down into him. The hellish face was smeared in green and black camouflage paint, but the eyes were crystal clear and vivid. The man smiled, his white teeth brilliant against the green and black of his face. "You're out of business, my friend." There was a thick European accent to the man's voice. The smile was not a nice one.

Lopez tried to plead for mercy, but the thick blood in his throat choked the words and he merely spluttered, spraying droplets of blood across his own face. The European raised up his machine pistol and fired once, punching a bullet straight through Lopez's head. The back of the man's skull exploded into the wooden floorboards below it, dripping blood and brains through the gaps and onto the jungle floor below.

Within a few minutes, the assault was over. Survivors of the initial onslaught were rounded up and pushed into the middle of the compound. They were forced to their knees in the dirt and waited, trembling for their captors to decide their fate. Chemists were dragged out of the processing shed, their white coats flapping like wings behind them as they too were dragged into the clearing in front of the hut and forced to their knees. An uneasy silence fell, broken only by the squawk of jungle birds in the thickets around the camp. The European man stood on the steps of the hut next to the lifeless body of Lopez, studying the pathetic specimens in front of him. A man in fatigues trotted up to him. "That's everyone, sir."

"Good." The European scanned the kneeling ranks of cocaine workers and snorted with derision. "Kill them all." Without another word, he turned his back on the pleading men and strolled inside the hut, shutting the door. Outside, he could hear the crack of small arms fire as his men executed every single last man and woman in the compound. Nobody was to be left alive. Those were his orders. And he never disobeyed orders. Especially when he was getting paid to do it.

He spent a few minutes rifling through the contents of the hut. A money box stuffed with US dollars was quickly emptied and the contents pocketed. His paymasters had told him that any money he found he could keep and share out amongst his men. They'd all have a good bonus today…

Claude Duvall, ex French Foreign Legion, ex Special Forces and now full-time mercenary, pulled out a satellite phone from a pack on his belt. He opened the phone and dialled a number. "It's done. Has the money been transferred?"

_"It has. Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been transferred to your account in the Cayman Islands as agreed. No survivors, I trust?"_

"None."

_"Excellent job, Mr Duvall. Your reputation is well earned. Destroy the factory and go home. Your work is finished. A pleasure doing business with you."_

Duvall smiled. "And you." He shut the phone and pushed it back into the pack. He turned and walked out of the hut. "Hunter!"

A man turned and immediately trotted up to Duvall. "Yes sir?"

"Destroy it. Everything. We leave in ten minutes."

"Yes sir."

Ten minutes later, Duvall and his men watched from a safe distance as the cocaine factory exploded into a fireball that reached a hundred feet into the sky. The surrounding jungle animals screamed in alarm, creating a cacophony of noise that could be heard for miles around. Above them the whump of helicopter rotor blades pounded. Their ride out had arrived. The eight man team crouched down, holding their hats on as the downdraft from the blades flattened the grass around them. They climbed aboard the Huey and felt it judder as it lifted off. Inside the helicopter, the men all sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. Hunter grinned broadly at his boss and shouted above the thump of the blades. "NICE ONE, SIR!"

Duvall nodded. "GOOD PAY DAY ALL ROUND, MEN. I THINK WE DESERVE SOME R AND R, DON'T YOU?"

"WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND, SIR?" Hunter grinned broadly at the thought of a spot of R&R with a pocket full of cash.

"I HEAR LOS ANGELES IS NICE THIS TIME OF YEAR!" Duvall laughed. "BESIDES, I HAVE SOME BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO THERE!"

Hunter and the other men grinned and nodded. "LA IT IS THEN!"

The Huey swung right and off over the endless expanse of jungle beneath it. Duvall looked down at the blur of greenery and smiled quietly to himself. They were the best damn mercenary team in the business. No survivors. No mercy. Nothing but carnage and destruction in their wake…

333333333

Colby pushed the front door of the beach house shut and tossed his keys into the green fluted bowl on the sideboard. He sighed deeply and stretched again, trying to ease out the knots in his muscles. Tim had suffered for his indignant slam-dunk, but the two men were evenly matched in a grapple and Colby knew he'd have a few extra bruises in the morning. He kicked off his boots and padded out to the kitchen. What he needed now was a cold beer before falling into bed…

The house seemed empty without Dee. They'd settled in together well, building as normal a relationship as they could given their jobs. Out there, they were two of the best agents the security services had. Here, they were just Colby and Dee. A nice, polite couple who waved to their neighbours and spent every spare moment enjoying the ocean waves and onshore breezes. Colby wandered out onto the veranda and looked out over the Pacific. He loved this place. No matter what happened 'out there' during the day, he knew he could always come home at night and one glance at the tranquil beach in the moonlight would evaporate any of the worries or stresses he'd suffered at work.

The doorbell chimed quietly and Colby turned, frowning. It was late. Who the hell was dropping by at this time of the night? He put the beer down and padded towards the door, reaching behind him to check that his A1 handgun was still sitting snugly in his belt. He kept his right hand on the stock as he peered through the peep-hole. "David?" Colby immediately opened the door wide. "Hey buddy! What the hell are you doin' here?"

David looked serious. "Sorry it's so late, Col. I need to talk to you."

"Hey man, not a problem! C'mon in!" Colby stepped to one side and let his partner enter the house.

"Seriously, I'm sorry to disturb you and all…"

Colby held up a hand. "Don't even go there, bud. What's wrong?" Colby led the way into the lounge and motioned to a comfortable sofa. "You want a beer or something?"

"No, thanks. I'm good." David sank down onto the sofa and sighed. He looked up as Colby sat down opposite him, leaning forward and waiting for his friend to tell him his problems…

"David?"

"After you left the bar, I got a phone call."

"Claudia pissed at you for being late again?" Colby gave David a lopsided grin.

"No, man, I wish it _had _been. No, some guy. Warning me to watch my back."

"_What?_" Colby's eyes widened in surprise.

"Apparently he said that I'd managed to piss off some people in Washington and moving back to LA wouldn't make me any safer. He told me that I shouldn't start anything I couldn't finish and to watch my back. He was _very _polite about it." David scowled angrily.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You told Don about this?"

"No. Not yet. I wanted to talk to you about it. Col, I think it might have something to do with the investigation I was leading in Washington. Ya know, the one I told you about?"

"Yeah, but you got a commendation for that, bud!"

"Obviously not _everyone_ was pleased with my work."

"No shit!" Colby sat back. "Okay. Any ideas who this dude was?"

"No. None."

"Did you try tracing the call?"

"Number withheld."

"Okay, so a Company number then."

David frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Colby shrugged and stretched out on the sofa, making himself comfortable. "Oh, just gut instinct. Guys calling you telling you to lay off and watch your back? Sounds like Company to me."

"Col, the CIA had nothing to do with our investigation. It was purely an FBI affair."

"Oh c'mon David, get there faster, will you? You were running an anti-corruption crew. You uncovered two dirty agents and had suspicions on a third. Of _course _the CIA would get its grubby little hands on things! They _love _all that shit, man, even when it ain't their own! They feel like they're missing out on the party if they're not mixing things up all the time. And you know full well that they enjoy messin' with people's heads, bud." Colby sat forward. "Thing is, they _know _you ain't the kinda guy who simply does what he's told and backs off. So who would be stupid enough to threaten you? And why?"

"That's what's got me wondering, Col. Seems like more than just coincidence that I talk to you about Stobbard and all of a sudden I'm getting threatening phone calls!"

"Hey man, what are you implying here?" Colby frowned deeply.

David held a hand up. "Whoa Col! C'mon brother, I didn't mean _you_! No, I think someone else is worried that our investigations could turn over a few rocks that some people in Washington would prefer us not to."

Colby nodded. "Okay. Well, we can't do anything about this tonight. Dee's back tomorrow morning. She's made contact with Stobbard. Let's wait and see what she's got." Colby stood up and pointed at his friend. "In the meantime my friend, you're staying _right _here tonight."

"What? I…"

"No arguing, David. If there's someone gunning for ya, your place ain't safe."

"Col, you're over-reacting…"

"David, you're the one knocking on my door at one in the morning. Who's over-reacting here?" Colby stared hard at his friend and David sighed.

"Okay. But I ain't spoonin' with ya!"

"Dude, you're sleepin' on the couch!" Colby grinned.

David chuckled quietly. "Okay. Thanks, bud."

"No problem. Have you called Claudia?"

"No. I thought it was a bit late to."

"Probably best not to right now, man. If they're watching you, they've probably got a sniffer on your phone. Best thing to do is to speak to her tomorrow morning. Don't give them anything they can use against you."

David frowned deeply. "Are you saying that they might go after Claudia to get at me?"

"Bud, I ain't saying _anything _until we know exactly who's threatening you and why." Colby smiled. "Don't worry, David. We'll take care of this in the morning. Let's get some sleep and I'll talk to Don with you tomorrow. Okay?"

David sighed and nodded. "Okay. Thanks again, Colby."

"Hey man, don't mention it. You know I've got your back. I'll go grab you some blankets. That breeze can get pretty chilly at night." He wandered off into the bedroom and reappeared a few minutes later with a bundle of blankets and pillows under his arm. Colby tossed the bedding at David and grinned. "That should do ya. You need anything else?"

David looked up at his friend with pleading eyes. "Colby?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me a story…"

Colby grinned broadly at his friend and picked up a cushion. He aimed it straight at David's head and the man fell back laughing, catching the cushion with ease. "I'll take that as a no, then?"

Colby laughed and shook his head. "Go to sleep, David." The smile vanished instantly from his face and he looked serious for a moment. "And _don't worry_, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good night."

"Night, Col."

Colby disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. David noticed that he still had his A1 pushed into the back of his pants. Despite Colby's reassurance, David knew that his friend would be sleeping with his gun under the pillow tonight…

David made up a bed on the couch and sank back. The sofa was remarkably comfortable and the crashing of the surf on the beach in the background was like a lullaby, soothing the worry from his mind. He drifted off into a deep sleep…

In the bedroom, Colby flipped open his phone and dialled a number. After a few seconds a broad Cockney voice sounded in his ear. "_For fuck's sake Colby, do you have any idea what bleedin' time it is, you muppet?"_

Colby kept his voice low so as not to disturb David in the next room. "Sorry Micky but I need your hacking skills, bud."

_"Seriously? What needs hacking at one in the morning?"_

"David's in trouble."

The petulant tone of Micky Cox's voice immediately changed into what the Brits always referred to as 'business mode'. "_Waddya need, mate?"_

"I need you to hack into the files for the anti-corruption operation David was involved with in Washington. Get me everything, Mick. Sealed files, the lot."

_"What am I looking for?"_

"Anyone who may have been pissed off with what David and his team did. David thinks there was a third man, but there was never any proof as to who. See if you can find something they may have missed, bud."

_"That's a bugger of a hack, Col. It's gonna take a while."_

"Micky, you got anything else to do right now?"

"_Um, well I was planning on doing this thing called sleeping, but hey, it can wait." _

"Thanks, man. Just get me what you can, okay?"

_"Will do, boss."_

"And Mick? Have a chat with Six as well. Find out what they know about the operation. David reacted pretty badly to me mentioning Stobbard's name. The guy's name was all over his investigation. Find out what you can from London. Dee's made contact with Stobbard in Dubai, but I'd like to get ahead of the game on this one. David could be in danger and I wanna know which son of a bitch is going after my best friend, okay?"

_"Copy that. Where's David now? I can get Ian to keep an eye on him for you if you want…"_

"Nah, bud, David's asleep on my couch. He's safe for now."

_"So you're on babysitting detail tonight then, huh?"_

Colby grinned. "You know it!"

_"Okay. Put your phone on silent so you don't wake him up and I'll call you as soon as I've got anything. You got a laptop there?"_

"Right here, bud."

_"Good. I'll get anything I find over to you straight away. Speak to you in a bit."_

"Thanks Micky. I owe you one."

_"Nah, mate. Just keep Sinclair safe. I quite like that uptight, stick up his arse bloke!"_

Colby laughed quietly. "I'll tell him you called him that! Thanks Micky." Colby snapped the phone shut and put it onto silent. He settled back on the bed and made himself comfortable, the A1 lying just millimetres from his right hand…

_**TBC…**_


	3. Caution keeps you alive

Disclaimer:

It wasn't me. I didn't do it and you can't prove _ANYTHING_! Huh? What? Waddya mean, _wrong disclaimer_? Oh righty-ho, sorry, my bad! I have nothing to do with Numb3rs (as if you didn't know that by now) but I do own the story and the Brit-pack characters.

Usual warning for, well, actually, there's no violence in this one (oh, now _don't _start looking at me like that, there's plenty to come later, okay?) so we're gonna have to go with bad language and the usual Briticisms that confuse the hell out of anyone not from this sceptered isle set in a highly radioactive and polluted sea.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**3333333333333333333333**

It was tough trying to keep his eyes open. Colby dozed on the bed, jolting awake every so often and checking his phone just in case Micky had called and he'd missed it. He yawned and glanced at his watch. Three thirty am. Another two and a half hours and he'd be getting up for work anyway. Any chance of a decent night's sleep to recover from the bruising MMA practice session with Tim King was now just a distant memory. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching his back and trying to keep his tired mind focused. He scooped up his cell phone and padded over to the large picture window that led out onto the balcony and silently unlocked the catch. The cool, pre-dawn breeze caressed his skin and blew away the fog of fatigue that still threatened to lull him back to the comfort of the large bed for at least a couple of hour's shut eye…

Colby stepped silently onto the balcony and leaned on the rail, watching the surf wash onto the beach. The sea was calm and although the moon had set, there was still a distinct difference in the inky blackness of the ocean and the deep, dark blue of the night sky. A cluster of stars twinkled silently, like tiny fragments of a shattered mirror scattered against a velvet backdrop. He breathed deeply, letting the cool air clear his head further.

Colby was worried. For David to come to his home at such a late hour over a simple phone call was unheard of. David didn't usually let things like that get to him. But Colby had noticed a change in his friend since his return from Washington. The normally cool, calm man seemed to be badly rattled by the phone call, and that wasn't the David he knew. When all hell was breaking lose, David was the calm centre of things, keeping a clear head when all around him were losing theirs. Colby's mind wandered back to a time when David had single-handedly talked down a room full of gun-toting lunatics betting on a Russian Roulette game the FBI agents had interrupted. Thanks to his exceptional negotiating skills not only had they walked out with their suspect in handcuffs, but they'd also managed to get out alive without a single shot being fired.

So to see David on edge like this only served to heighten Colby's sense of unease. Rooms full of gun waving lunatics he could deal with. But Colby knew that his friend had a deep distrust of anything to do with "spy shit", as he had called it. Although Colby knew David had accepted that his best friend was a spy, he also knew that it didn't sit easily with the fundamentally honest and principled man.

Colby had been surprised to find out what David had been doing in Washington. Although the fact that David's role had been to sniff out corruption in the DC office wasn't a shock, that he had become so deeply embroiled in the political manoeuvrings of the FBI did surprise Colby. After six months, David had returned to LA. He had been quieter, more thoughtful and more subdued, reluctant to talk even to his best friend about what had happened in Washington. Colby hadn't pushed it. He reckoned that David would talk to him in his own time and when he was ready to…

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door and Colby turned abruptly. He padded silently back into the bedroom and to the door, pulling it open. David smiled apologetically. "I was gonna say sorry for wakin' you, bud, but I see you weren't…um…"

Colby grinned. "Couldn't sleep, huh? Yeah, that sofa seems comfy to start with, but there's a lumpy bit that sticks right in your ass…"

David laughed and shook his head. "No brother, it wasn't the lumpy sofa that woke me. I just…I dunno…" David shrugged and rubbed his face. "Figured you'd probably be either out cold or wide awake, so you want a coffee? I was gonna make some…"

"Dude, you don't even _drink_ coffee!" Colby chuckled. "But I know Dee's got some tea in the cupboard. C'mon, bud, I'll make you a pot of proper English tea." He patted his friend on the shoulder and led him into the kitchen. While Colby busied himself making a drink for them both, David perched at the breakfast bar, his elbows leaning on the polished granite surface. His friend looked completely at home and his usual relaxed self. But David noticed that Colby's A1 handgun was still in the waistband of his jeans. After a few minutes, Colby handed his friend a steaming mug. "English tea. Made properly. Ya know. Tea goes in _before _the milk. Get it the other way round and Dee goes nuts!" Colby grinned at his friend and pulled up another stool and sat next to David, nursing his own mug.

"Wow! This is…actually? This is really good!" David grinned.

"Yeah. Make a cup of herbal tea and offer it to Dee and there's a pretty good chance you're gonna end up _wearing _it, ya know?" Colby chuckled. "Those Brits are kinda funny about their hot drinks, man!" He glanced at his friend. "So, c'mon David. You didn't knock at my bedroom door at three in the morning because you wanted a cup of tea. Wanna talk, bud?"

David stared into the brown liquid in his cup, lost in thought. "Just going over in my mind who was behind that phone call, ya know?"

"Don't worry about it, David. I've got Micky doing a bit of back-door electronic breaking and entering for ya. But it might help me if you could tell me a bit more about the stuff you were working on in DC. You know my security clearance goes all the way up, brother. So c'mon, man, talk to me here."

David frowned briefly. "You've got Micky doing what?"

Colby chuckled quietly. "Do you honestly think that just because you were lead agent on the investigation that they'd tell you _everything_? Man, have you _not _been around me long enough to figure out how these sons of bitches work? Look, nobody likes to think that one of their own may be dirty. I mean, look at how you guys felt when you thought I was a spy for the Chinese, right?" Colby saw the inward flinch in David's eyes. He still didn't like to talk about that dark time with his friend. It had very nearly cost them their friendship as well as his life… "So it stands to reason that there were some people who weren't pleased about the fact that you'd manage to breeze in like some Johnny come lately from LA with your fancy suits and your smart-ass attitude and bust two DC agents that were known, loved and respected by their peers!" Colby took a sip of tea and put his mug down again. "It sucks being internal investigations, David, I know that for a fact. There's folks at Langley that wished I'd gotten taken out by an IED in Afghanistan _years _ago, believe me. But it's a job that has to be done, bud. People like you and me are the ones who have to keep things clean. It sucks, but it's down to us, David. And honestly? I don't know anyone I'd rather have keeping watch on things than you."

David smiled at his friend. "Thanks, man. That means a lot to me."

Colby laughed. "Nah dude, it just means that you're an annoying son of a bitch who just won't let the bone drop once he gets it in between his teeth! That's what makes me wonder about the whole thing."

"Waddya mean?"

Colby shook his head. "It just doesn't make any sense, man. If you did manage to uncover a real hornet's nest in DC, there's bound to be fallout. Here's how I see it, David. Someone's scared that you know who this third man was." He held up a hand to stop David from interrupting. "No, just listen to me for a minute, okay? Whether you realise it or not, there's something in those files that points us straight in the direction of this guy. They, whoever _they _are, are obviously worried that you're gonna suddenly realise what that something is and bam! All hell's gonna break lose."

"So you think that's why they said I wasn't safe here?"

Colby shook his head. "Nope. David, if these bastards are gunnin' for ya, you wouldn't be safe anywhere, trust me." He frowned deeply and took a sip of his tea. "Nah, I think your friend may have given us more information than he realised, bud, intentionally _or _unintentionally."

"Col, seriously dude. I have no idea where you're coming from on this."

Colby leaned forward, an intense look in his green eyes. David always knew when Colby got that look in his eyes it meant he could smell blood… "If someone wanted to shut you up, they'd just do it quietly. Us spooks aren't well known for giving people a head's up that we're watching them, David. It kinda goes against the whole idea of undercover work, ya know? We just shoot you and have done with it."

"Thanks. That…yeah. That makes me feel a _whole _lot better…"

"David, you're missing the point here. The question isn't who called you. The real question is _why _did you get that phone call in the _first place_? Why not just do a silent watch on you and then pop a cap in your ass if you started getting too interested in things that could cause some important people problems?"

David frowned and took a sip of tea. "You got anything here, man? You're way more used to this kinda sideways thinking shit than I am."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment, okay?" Colby grinned at his friend. "So if we're thinkin' _sideways_, as you put it, my guess would be that someone actually _wanted _you to know that whatever you were working on in DC has reared its ugly head here. Perhaps it's someone's way of saying hey, take a look at this. Questions is, who?" Colby raised an eyebrow, waiting for his friend to respond.

"If that's the case then why didn't they just do it through the normal channels? Ya know, actually brief me or send me a report or something?"

Colby shook his head. "Nah, man, that's not how internal investigations works. At this point you don't know who the hell you can trust. So rather than making it obvious and _traceable _by going through the normal channels that would leave a pretty easy trail of breadcrumbs for the bad guys to follow, you go at it, well, _sideways_ I guess."

"So you're saying that whoever phoned me was doing me a _favour_?"

"Possibly, yep."

"Colby, that's ridiculous."

"Really? Think about it. What's priority number one in your mind right about now?"

David was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Eventually he looked up at his friend and sighed. "I guess you're right, bud. I'm being played, right?"

Colby opened his mouth to speak but the sharp buzz of his cell phone stopped him. He glanced down at the caller ID and then at his friend. "It's Micky." Colby flipped open the phone and put it on speaker. "Hey Mick. What ya got?"

"_A whole heap of nothing, boss. I've got access to all the reports that anyone else would be able to see as standard. But there's a pile of crap that's locked down tighter than the crown jewels, mate. They're using level six encryptions. It's gonna take me hours to break through them and even then I'm not sure I can without setting off a shit load of alarms in DC. Whatever's in those files, someone wants it to stay hidden really badly."_

Colby frowned and glanced at his friend. "David? Any ideas?"

David was quiet for a few seconds and then leaned in towards the cell phone. "Mick? It's David. Just out of interest, have you come across anything on a guy named Richard Stobbard yet?"

_"His name's all over the damn place, David. Nothing concrete on him though, well, nothing that would put him in the frame legally. He's legit, according to the case files."_

"Dig deeper if you can, bud. I'm sure he's our connection."

Colby nodded and spoke into the phone. "Dee's keeping tabs on Stobbard in Dubai at the moment with Six. She's due back tomorrow. See if you can find out if Stobbard's got any connections in the FBI. We need a name, bud. And if he knows anyone here in LA. Dee spoke to me early this morning and told me Stobbard's heading here. I wanna know who he's meeting and why."

"_Copy that. You guys okay?"_

David chuckled quietly to himself. "Yeah Mick, we're good."

_"Watch out for that sofa of Colby's, David. There's a lumpy bit that sticks right up your arse if you lay on it wrong…"_

"Micky, just get back to it, would ya?" Colby interrupted jovially and rolled his eyes at David. "Call me later."

_"Will do."_

The connection ended and Colby snapped the phone shut. He sighed quietly and looked at his friend. "Well bud, I guess all we can do now is wait…"

3333333

The LAX terminal was packed to capacity. Throngs of businessmen and women, tourists and travellers milled around the place, all waiting for their flight to be called or for their loved ones to come through the arrivals lounge. Parents greeted children, friends embraced and there was an air of perpetual excitement and anticipation.

Colby scanned the returning passengers coming through gate 18, trying to control that knot of excitement he felt at the thought of seeing Dee again. She'd been on operations with MI6 for two weeks and he'd missed her terribly. Despite having spent so much time apart over the past few years, he couldn't get used now to not having her around. The house had felt too big without her there. He waited, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other, the bunch of flowers in his hand starting to droop alarmingly as his grip tightened around the stems.

The last few passengers from flight 107 from Dubai trickled through and Colby started to feel a knot of concern in his stomach. She wasn't there. Something was wrong… He reached into his pocket and his fingers closed around his cell phone. Just as he was about to pull it out and start dialling, a tall woman with distinctive auburn hair strolled through the doors. Colby's face instantly split into a wide grin and all of the concern flooded away. Dee saw Colby and moved towards him quickly, allowing him to wrap his arms around her in a welcoming and comforting embrace. "Hey baby!" Colby buried his head into her shoulder and held her close, not caring whether people were watching or not. Smelling her perfume again, feeling the warmth of her body against his – he had no words for the relief he felt at just being able to hold her.

She looked up and smiled gently. "You look knackered, sweetheart. You been sleeping okay?"

Colby laughed and kissed her passionately. He pulled back, still grinning. "Nope. But that doesn't matter right now. I'll get some shut eye later." He brought the now slightly worse for wear flowers up and smiled again. "For you."

Diane looked genuinely surprised at the flowers and her green eyes locked with Colby's own. "Flowers?"

"Wow. Even jetlag can't dull your spidy-senses, baby!"

"For me?"

Colby rolled his eyes. "Nooo, I was gonna give them to the captain to thank him for not screwing up the landing and sending your plane nose first into the goddamn terminal in a fiery ball of death and destruction! Of _course _they're for you, you dumb broad!"

Diane was quiet for a minute as she took the flowers gently from his hand and stared at them. "Nobody's ever given me flowers before." Her voice almost cracked with emotion.

Colby's eyes widened with surprise. "Seriously?"

Diane glanced up. "Yep. Seriously." She gave him a shy smile. "Thank you. They're beautiful."

Colby kissed her softly on the lips and smiled back. "It's what civilians do, baby. Get used to it. I'm gonna be bringing you flowers all the damn time from now on!"

"I better get a flower vase then…" Diane stopped in mid sentence and frowned deeply, her eyes fixed on a target over Colby's right shoulder. "What in the name of all that is holy is _that _nasty little gobshite doing here?"

"Huh?"

"Three o'clock. Tall guy, blonde hair, blue eyes. Black jacket, jeans, red sports hold all. Name is Claude Duvall." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Holding it up carefully, she took a picture of the man. Colby held his position to cover her covert photography session, his instincts and years of counter surveillance training kicking in. She slyly showed him the screen and he glanced down at the picture she had taken. Diane lowered her voice so that nobody could overhear their conversation. "Claude Duvall. Ex French Foreign Legion. Before that he was Commandement des Opérations Spécialesor. French Special Forces. Now working as a mercenary in some of the most unpleasant parts of the world and making a damn good living out of it. Last I heard he was causing hell in Colombia working for the drugs barons. What the fuck is he doing in LA?"

Colby frowned. "Is he solo?"

Diane glanced around carefully, her expert training allowing her to scan the crowd for tell-tale micro expressions, a walk that didn't fit in with a civilian crowd, a furtive glance – all the things that expert spies used to find their marks in a throng… "Doesn't look like anyone's with him. But then without checking the watch list mugshots, I don't know what his current team looks like. So he could be alone, or he could be here with a crew."

"Should I be concerned about this, baby?"

Diane nodded. "Put it this way, Colby. Interpol certainly is, and there are at least four South American countries that would _really _like to have a chat with him. He's a real nasty bastard, CJ." Her frown deepened. "And he's a big player in the international arms trade…"

33333333

"Why the HELL didn't you come straight to me with this, David?" Don Eppes frowned angrily at his friend, trying to disguise the immediate concern he had at what the man had just told him. He shut the door of the war room, closing out the general noise and chaos of the Bullpen.

"Don, I didn't think…"

"No David, you didn't! You get a threatening phone call and you take it to _Colby_?"

"Don, Colby's had far more experience of this kind of situation than the rest of us put together! He's already got his people working on…"

"His people are _my _people, David! There's a chain of command here, buddy, and I'll thank you to remember that!"

"I'm sorry, Don."

Don sighed and ran his hand through his short dark hair. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry too. I went off at the deep end there. I know Col's got the background in this kinda thing, but if there is a problem in my team I need to know, clear?"

"Crystal."

Don sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. "So what's Colby's angle?"

"He's got Micky Cox trying to access the sealed files, ones even I didn't have access to."

"So what do we have so far?"

"Nothing really, to be honest. Just a phone call and a connection to this guy." David picked up the remote control for the plasma screen and pressed a button. A picture of Richard Stobbard popped up onto the screen. "Richard Paul Stobbard. British national and a major international arms trader. Diane and MI6 have been shadowing him at an arms fair in Dubai for the last few days. When I was in Washington he was a person of interest in the case I worked."

"The one that uncovered two dirty agents?"

"Yeah. I dunno Don, whether this is just co-incidence or if there really is something going on…"

Don nodded. "Right now we've got nothing, buddy. Like you said, a single phone call and a very lose link to a British gun trader. What do we do with this?"

"Colby's gone to meet Diane at LAX. Perhaps she'll be able to tell us something new, bud."

"She already has." A soft voice made them both turn towards the doorway. Ian Edgerton stood casually, leaning against the doorframe with that enigmatic smile on his lips that always caused Don to wonder if he knew more than he was letting on...

"Ian?"

"Colby's just called me. Apparently we've got a new player in town, and one that we could _really_ do without." Ian pushed himself off the doorframe and ambled into the room. "What does the name Claude Duvall mean to you, David?"

"Nothing. Should it?"

Ian nodded. "Duvall is a nasty piece of work who rents himself and a load of ex military boys out to the highest bidder. He's just landed in LA." Ian leaned over the laptop and tapped a few keys. A picture of Claude Duvall popped up onto the plasma screen and the three men studied the image for a few seconds.

Don frowned. "Okay, so we've got a mercenary in town. So?"

Ian chuckled quietly. "This mercenary gets a lot of work from the international arms trade, Don. Protection, mainly. Ya know, being on hand just in case a deal goes south. Micky's got intel from CTC that suggests we could be looking at a big arms deal about to go down in LA. My guess is he's here for that."

David frowned. "Dee said that Stobbard was on his way to LA as well. Looks like we could have a problem here."

Don shook his head. "This is technically an ATF gig, guys. Not FBI."

David glanced up at his boss, a serious expression on his face. "Yeah, but at least two of our agents in Washington were involved in the last major gun deal case I worked on. They're both doing time in Supermax right about now. It doesn't take your brother to add the numbers up on this one, Don. We've got Stobbard, Duvall and someone in Washington's who's getting real nervous about what I know. Either that or someone wants us to _unofficially_ take a closer look at this whole thing. What if that's why I got the phone call?"

"What phone call?" Ian frowned briefly.

"Long story, bud. I'll tell you about it later." David shrugged.

Don stood up. "Where are Colby and Diane now?"

"On their way here. Micky's heading in too."

Don nodded. "Okay. Ian? Get the rest of the MIT team in on this one. If it's got a military angle, I want you guys right on the leading edge of this."

"Understood." Ian nodded briefly and turned back out into the Bullpen, his phone already in his hand.

Don watched him go and turned to David, a serious expression on his face. "David, I want you to promise me that if anything, and I _mean anything_ happens like that again, you dial me in on it straight away." He laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, but his expression was still serious. "I know you and Colby are close, bud, but if people start threatening anyone in my team, I wanna know about it."

David smiled briefly. "I know, Don. Don't worry. I get any more funny calls, I'll yell straight away. Even if it _is _at three in the morning!"

Don frowned briefly. "Three am? Hell David, no need to go overboard! Some son of a bitch calls you at that time of the morning, you have my permission to take it straight back to Colby!" His face split into a wide smile as he teased his friend gently. He patted David's shoulder and walked towards the door. "Full briefing as soon as Col's team are in house, David. Let's see what we're dealing with here."

David watched his boss walk back into the chaos of the Bullpen and chuckled quietly. He felt a little more secure knowing that the entire team had closed ranks around him. Anyone who might be tempted to try anything stupid had one hell of a fight on their hands. Even if they _were _employing goddamn mercenaries as bodyguards…

333333

"Mr Stobbard? We should be landing in Los Angeles in twenty minutes." The air stewardess smiled at her one and only passenger and handed him another glass of champagne. The engines of the Lear jet whined quietly outside, taking the final bank left before beginning the approach into the private airport Richard always used. He glanced up at the stewardess and smiled, taking the champagne flute from her fingers.

"Thank you Christine." He watched her walk back along the cabin and settled back into the luxurious seat. Richard sipped lazily at his champagne and stared out of the window at the clouds below. His attention drifted and he found himself thinking about that enigmatic Englishwoman with the auburn hair and a nice selection of viciously effective Aikido moves. He smiled to himself. He would enjoy _that _particular conquest. It would make a nice little diversion from business matters…

His cell phone buzzed quietly on the table. Richard reached forward with one hand, scooping up the cell phone and pressing the green call button. "Stobbard…"

"_Monsieur Stobbard. You are well, I trust?"_

Stobbard smiled nastily. "Mister Duvall. I assume from your relaxed tone that all went well in Colombia."

_"It did. Many thanks for the recommendation. My men were well paid."_

"My pleasure. Where are you?"

_"Los Angeles. My men are flying in separately."_

"You're a cautious man, Mister Duvall."

_"Caution keeps you alive, Monsieur Stobbard. When can I expect to hear from you?"_

"I have a couple of matters to attend to, so two or three days at the most. In the meantime, relax, enjoy yourself, avail yourself of everything that LaLa land has to offer and prepare your team. I'll call you in two days with further instructions. Until then, as you said yourself, caution keeps you alive, so I think it best to keep our communications to a minimum, don't you?"

_"Agreed."_

"Thank you, Mister Duvall. I look forward to seeing you soon." Stobbard smiled and cut the connection, discarding the phone again on the table. He settled back in his seat, drained the last drops of the champagne and smiled smugly. Ah, the life of an international arms dealer. It didn't get much better than this…

In a Los Angeles side street, Claude Duvall opened the back of the cell phone and pulled out the SIM card. He carefully placed the cell phone on the floor and crushed it into pieces with the heel of his boot. He scooped up the pieces and dropped them into a rubbish bin with the packaging from the new phone he'd bought ten minutes earlier. Caution kept you alive…

Duvall smiled to himself and slung the sports hold all over his shoulder. He walked casually onto the main street and hailed a cab. Two days to relax and unwind. Two days to put his team in place. Two days to _raise a little hell…_

_**TBC…**_


	4. Baiting the Hook

Disclaimer:

Okay, firstly an apology from the author for the delay in updating this story. I won't go into details but a personal matter has taken me away from creative writing for a while. But we're back, we're ready to boogy and we're keepin' it real, kiddos!

Too much?

Meh. Suit yourselves! Anyhoo, usual disclaimer applies. I do not own anything to do with Numb3rs, but the story and the Brits are miney mine, mine!

No warnings for violence this time (what? You can't have explosions _every _chapter, you know! Oh, stop yer whining, I'll blow something up next time I promise!), but there are brief moments of Cockney slang that'll probably leave you scratching yer bonces…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**3333333333333333333333**

Danny Smith groaned quietly and opened one eye. The blonde hair of a woman sprawled across the pillow, a lock of it resting over the skin between Danny's top lip and his nose. He could smell the woman's perfume on her hair and for a second he let himself slip into a comfortable memory of last night's encounter. The buzzing vibration of his cell phone resonating through the wooden top of the bedside table quickly caused the delightful memory to evaporate as quickly as the woman's perfume had. The lock of hair was now just irritating and _incredibly _ticklish. Danny snorted and swatted away the stray blond lock of hair, facilitating a quiet moan from…god, what the hell _was _her name? Danny sat up and glanced over at the sleeping woman. Lisa. That was it. Lisa Lovelace. Well, that was her stage name, anyway. Danny had a sneaking suspicion that 'Lisa Lovelace' was probably something much more mundane like Lisa 'Brown'. But part of the package of an exotic dancer was an exotic name. And at least she was bendy…

Danny threw the crumpled sheet back and swung his legs onto the cool wooden floorboards of Lisa's apartment bedroom. He scooped the phone up and flipped it open. "Smith…" Danny kept his voice down, careful not to wake Lisa.

"_Sorry for the early wake up call, Dan. We need everyone in asap." _Ian Edgerton's voice was its normal neutral, calm tone.

"Not a problem. I'll be there in…" Danny threw a quick glance at his watch. "About twenty minutes."

"_Twenty minutes? Dan, you live an hour away! I…oh" _There was a short pause and a little chuckle as Ian made a quick mental calculation and realisation of the reason behind Danny's hushed tones and closer than usual proximity kicked in_. "Okay bud. Soo…Is she cute?"_

"Stop grinning, Edgerton. I can hear it in your bleedin' voice, you git!" Danny hissed sarcastically into the phone while scanning the perimeter of the bed for his pants. He glanced up and saw them hanging limply from the ceiling fan. For a brief second another fleeting memory of the night before gatecrashed his mind and he grinned broadly. "Oh yeah baby, she's cute!" Danny reached up and unhooked the pants, ducking out of the way to avoid them from landing on his head. "And a damn sight more fun than spending all night sitting alone and cleaning your sniper rifle, mate!" Danny did a three sixty spin around and located at least one sock and a shoe over by the doorway.

"_Who said I was alone?"_

"Ian Edgerton, you naughty little puppy!" Danny grinned broadly as he heard Ian chuckle quietly.

"_See you in twenty." _

"Copy that." Danny snapped the phone closed and scanned the bedroom one more time.

"Who was that?" Lisa rolled over and lazily yawned. Her right arm was flung across the space on the bed where Danny had lain and the sheets only just covered her naked body. Dan glanced over. Her naked…_fit _body… He warmly smiled at Lisa.

"Work."

"Aww baby, you gotta go so _soon_?" Lisa smiled back at Danny, a dazzling smile that would strip paint off a wall or splinter a man's heart in a millisecond. She patted the bed, that smile still turned up to eleven. "And I was _so _looking forward to getting to know my new British guy a little _better_…"

Danny strolled towards the bed, drawn in by that smile like a fish on a hook. "Well, if you can tell me where my other sock is and," Danny glanced down and quickly back up again, clearing his throat; "yeah, and my underpants, I'm sure I could make that run back to the office in ten. That would give you a whole ten minutes to get to know me some more!"

Lisa lay back on the pillows and smiled serenely. Her left hand reached down behind the bed and slowly came back up, holding Danny's underpants like a flag being raised up a mast.

"Now you see? That's why I like you…" Danny grinned broadly and climbed back onto the bed. Lisa let out a squeal of laughter and tossed the underpants in the air. They landed on a blade of the ceiling fan and slowly rotated in mid air. Lisa giggled again, the giggle smothered by a flurry of passionate kisses from Danny…

3333333

Doug Cross jogged up to the bench and paused, breathing heavily. Sweat had turned the light grey of his teeshirt into a mottled collection of dark patches around the neck and down the centre of his back. He puffed out his cheeks and reached into the sports bag, pulling out a towel. Doug wiped the sweat from his face and slumped down onto the bench. His knee was playing up again. A bad landing from a jump nine years before meant that the knee had never been one hundred percent solid. But Doug had loved being a part of the Parachute Regiment so much that he'd managed to fool all the medics into thinking that it had heeled completely. It hadn't.

Every landing had been agony for months, until he'd learned to favour his right leg on impact. He'd covered up the injury by learning to block out the pain every time they did a route march, run or practice jump. Eventually, it became a constant but liveable dull background ache. But the run this morning had highlighted to him that the knee was still 'a bit wibbly', as Danny had once put it. Doug massaged the knee with his hand, willing the pain to subside from a repetitive sharp stabbing to a dull ache. Eventually the knee capitulated and he stood up again, testing it. Doug frowned. "Bleedin' thing…" He tested the knee again and scowled angrily as the tendon stretched as tight as a rubber band. He could feel it was on the point of snapping. He'd have to be satisfied with just a six mile run today…

From inside the sports bag came a muffled ringing. Doug reached into the bag and pulled out his cell phone. "Cross…"

_Doug, it's Ian. Sorry to call you on your day off bud, but we need everyone in."_

Doug closed his eyes, a look of utter disappointment on his face. "On my way."

"_Thanks, bud. Appreciate it."_

"Don't mention it. I didn't have anything planned today anyway. See you shortly." Doug disconnected the call. "_Bollocks!_" He swore passionately and stabbed at the numbers on the display. The new call connected and he pressed the phone to his ear.

"_Yo! Brit guy! How's it hanging? Ready to go soar like a freakin' eagle, my man?" _The jovial voice at the end sounded excited.

"Wotchya Noah. Sorry old son, gonna have to cry off."

_"NO WAY! C'mon man, you know we've been planning this for weeks! I had to bribe the security guard to look the other way!"_

Doug glanced up at the imposing monolith that was the US Bank Tower, the tallest skyscraper in Los Angeles and the tenth tallest building in the United States. He sighed. "I know, mate, I know." Doug looked at the Tower, a dreamy look in his eyes. Damn it, it would have been one _sweet _base jump! But he couldn't let the team down for what was technically a felony. And now that he was part of the FBI, he couldn't afford to let a few moments of ultimate adrenaline rush ruin what would be a very short career. Especially if he landed badly on that knee… "I can't get out of it. Look, you go for it, Noah, okay? Just make sure you get good footage on the way down!"

"_Okay man, but it won't be the same without you, bud! Stay safe, dude!"_

"You too. Happy landings!" Doug disconnected the call and tossed the phone into the sports bag. He gave the Tower one last sad look, hoisted the bag across his shoulder and started to walk back to his car…

3333333

Tim King pounded repeatedly at the punch bag, raining blow after blow into the leather and making the entire bag swing dangerously on its support hook. He danced back and pulled his right knee up towards his chest, the muscles tensing like a coiled spring. He pivoted and the leg shot forward arrow straight in a perfect side kick, his horizontal foot landing bang in the middle of the bag in exactly the position that an average sized man's ribcage would be. The power that the kick delivered set the bag swinging wildly again and Tim drew his leg back, still balancing perfectly on his left leg, his torso upright and both fists in a fighting position. Slowly he lowered his right foot to the ground, watching the swinging bag like a hawk watches a mouse. A kick like that would put any man on his arse in a heartbeat. Tim grinned and put his hands out, stopping the swaying bag down to a gentle rocking motion and then finally, still once more.

His ribs still ached from the pounding Granger had given him the evening before as they had sparred good naturedly but with no holds barred. Granger was surprisingly quick for such a big guy, and the American's extensive wrestling experience and grappling aptitude made him a formidable opponent. Tim had found a new level of respect for Colby Granger that evening. Despite the vivid bruises Granger had inflicted on Tim, the ex Marine was now much more confident in his grappling skills as a result of the harsh but fair training he'd received at the hands of his new boss.

It had been difficult for Tim at first. After leading SWAT for five years, to go back to taking orders from a man who was younger than he was and had taken orders from _him _not two years previously had been galling. _And _the son of a bitch wasn't even an ex Marine, he was ex Army! Tim had felt that the pride of the Marine Corps had taken a knock with that, especially as his boss was an ex Ranger. The rivalry between the two Corps was legendary. But Granger quickly proved why they'd chosen him to lead MIT. Tim was enough of a man to know that brawn wasn't the only thing that won battles. Granger had both brawn _and _brains. It was strange – Tim had always assumed, just like everyone else, that Colby was just a good natured country boy with a lopsided grin and a frighteningly accurate ability with a hand gun. Granger was to hand guns what Edgerton was to sniper rifles. Between the two of them, a target at any distance didn't stand much of a chance. He'd trained Colby for SWAT duties and found him to be an astonishingly quick learner. In fact, tactically, Granger was way ahead of any of his other SWAT team mates, often gently pointing out tactical errors that Tim himself had overlooked. But Granger had done it in such a way that it was never an irritation. He was an absolute team player, thanks to his Army training. And Tim appreciated that, even if there was still a bit of friendly rivalry between the two men.

But that good natured country boy act was just that – an act – and a very convincing one too. Tim had quickly found out that Granger was much, much more. He was an expert tactician with a frighteningly good eye for detail. He didn't just go around kicking doors in. He knew exactly _which _doors to kick in, and why. That's what made Granger the obvious choice as team leader. Sure, they still teased each other occasionally, but Granger's willingness to utilise every team member's abilities made MIT one of the most effective and highly respected units in the FBI. 'Heavy artillery', as Eppes liked to call them…

Tim reached out with one gloved hand and grabbed a water bottle that sat half drunk on the bench. He tipped it up and sucked greedily at the contents, rehydrating himself with the isotonic drink. As he gulped down the contents, he the shrill chirrup of his cell phone. The sudden noise in the silence of the empty gym startled him and he spluttered. A few drops of the drink went down the wrong way and he exploded into a coughing fit, spraying a mouthful of the drink all over the punch bag. The coughs quickly subsided and he glared at the now sodden surface of the leather bag. "Awww _man_!" Tim ran the back of his hand across his mouth and still letting out the occasional sharp cough, grabbed the phone. "King…" Tim coughed again, the last few drops of liquid that had threatened to choke him by irritating the lining of the bronchi at the top of his lungs finally expelled.

"_Whoa Tim, buddy, you okay there?"_

"Yeah. Just never try and _breathe _a freakin' power drink, man! Hey Ian, what's up?"

_"Need you in, my friend. Colby's orders. Well, Don's actually, but hey…"_

Tim chuckled. "Dude, I answer to Granger, not Eppes! And if Col says come in, I'm in. Give me twenty minutes."

"_Okay Tim. Try not to choke to death before then, cool?"_

Tim chuckled. "Cool. I think I got the hang of this whole drinking and breathing thing sorted out now! On my way, Ian."

"_Cheers, Tim." _

Tim heard the connection terminate and tossed the phone back onto the bench. He glanced over at the wet, slippery punchbag and powered a killer punch into the middle. The moisture on the surface of the bag sprayed outwards in a fine mist as the punch landed. Tim withdrew his arm back and grinned. Yeah. _That _one felt good. _That _was the punch that would win the MMA tournament next Saturday! Screw grappling, just punch the son of a bitch! He picked up a towel, quickly wiped the moisture from the surface of the bag and headed for the shower…

33333333

The door of the war room burst open and a slightly dishevelled looking Danny Smith trotted in. "Sorry boss. Traffic." Danny threw an apologetic look at Colby, who merely nodded. But Danny could see the mischievous twinkle in those green eyes of Colby's. The bugger knew! Danny slipped quietly into a seat and risked a look towards Ian. The American met his gaze with a barely contained smile flitting around his lips. Danny could feel the heat rising on his cheeks and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Okay, now that we're all _here_…" Colby threw a pointed glance at Danny, who went a deeper shade of beetroot red. "Guys, the files in front of you will bring you up to speed with everything Micky's managed to suck outta Langely's and FBI DC's databases, but the bottom line is this. We got a whole heap of dots and we gotta try connecting 'em." Colby pressed the remote and a series of pictures cascaded onto the plasma screen. "First up, Richard Paul Stobbard."

"This one's our dealer." Diane Armstrong had been sitting quietly on the edge of a table. Now she got to her feet and walked towards the screen.

"Good to have you back, Guv."

"Thanks, Micky, for that blatant bit of arse kissing." A chuckle rippled around the room and Micky grinned broadly. "Anyhoo. Stobbard. International arms dealer, keeps everything that's visible as legit as possible. Well respected, particularly in South America. Has known connections with several drug cartels over the border, but nothing we can pin on the slippery little bugger. I've got a meeting…well, more of a _date_, actually, with him on Friday evening. The file contains everything Six has on him and a report of the arms fair in Dubai…"

"Whoa, wait…_what_?" Colby interrupted Diane in mid sentence. "You never said anything about a _date_…"

"Oops…" Doug muttered under his breath at Danny, who merely nodded in response and grinned.

"Yeah I did. I told you about it on the way back from the airport!"

"You never said the word _date_…"

"You guys want a minute alone here?" Ian struggled to keep from laughing as the two most feared intelligence agents in the whole of the FBI had a very public little spat in front of the team…

"I'll be wired up, you pillock! It's a reccy!" Diane flashed Colby a brief scowl.

Colby grinned broadly. "I know that. I'm just teasing ya, sweetie! And I think I speak for all of us here when I say I cannot _wait _to see you all girlied up in a posh frock instead of your usual combats!"

"Bastard."

"Red, Guv. Red suits you down to the ground!"

"Leave it, Cox…"

"Can I post the pictures up on Myspace?" Micky Cox grinned broadly at Diane.

"Shut _up_, Micky. Now, can we _please _get back to the briefing, or do I have to open the proverbial tin of whoop arse on the next bugger to let slip a smart comment about me getting 'girlied up', as you so beautifully put it?" Diane threw a vicious stare around the room. "No? Good. So apart from Stobbard, who Micky's now got tabs on, we have another player with a Colombian connection. This nasty little herbert." She pointed at the next picture. "Claude Duvall. French national. Ex French Special Forces, Legionnaire and general ner'do'well. "

"Runs a team of mercenaries specialising in seek and destroy missions. Not known for his sympathetic nature." Ian spoke quietly, but every word was audible to everyone in the room. "Thing about Duvall is during a mission, he's all business. But he tends to party hard on down time too. We picked his trail up last night thanks to some CCTV coverage of a bar fight at some sleezy joint downtown. Duvall likes his brandy and when he drinks, he likes to raise a little hell. He managed to slip away before LAPD arrived, but the bar and several patrons were trashed by then."

"Duvall's team is pretty static, usually these guys." Colby pressed the remote and a series of mug shots lit up the screen. "We're watching the airports and four out of the five have already landed in LA. We've got one guy down, name of Duncan Jones. Jones was arrested at Miami airport with a ticket bound for LAX."

"Why was Jones arrested?" Danny stared intently at the photograph.

"Visa violation."

Tim gave Colby a surprised look. "_Visa _violation?"

"I have a buddy in immigration." Colby grinned. We've been busy while you were screwin' around poundin' a heavy bag at the gym, my friend!"

Tim chuckled. "Fair play. So who's Jones?"

"Duvall's sniper."

"Okay, so what would a crack team of mercenaries be doing in LA?" Again, Danny's voice spoke the question they were all thinking.

"That we don't know. But Six have been tracking Stobbard's phone calls and he made a call to a burn phone yesterday. We found a phone in a trash can just around the corner from the bar Duvall trashed. It had his fingerprints all over it, but no SIM card."

"So we're assuming that Duvall and Stobbard are connected?" Tim shifted in his seat and crossed his arms over his still aching ribs.

"Yep." Diane nodded at Tim. "Trouble is, we don't know how. And we don't know why any of them are in LA right now."

"Seems to me you've got Stobbard covered. What we need is to find out what the hell Duvall's team are doing here. They've gotta be considered a primary threat." Ian scratched idly at his ear. "And seein' as they're a team player down…"

"…Then it would be an ideal opportunity to get someone in there under cover. Yeah, like I said, we're way ahead of you, Ian!" Colby grinned at his friend. "And isn't it just peachy that we've got the fifth best sniper…"

"…Fourth best, Granger. _Fourth best_." Ian scowled mockingly at Colby, who merely grinned in response.

"My bad. Seeing as we have the _fourth _best sniper in the country at our disposal…" He raised an eyebrow at Ian, who nodded.

"What's my in?"

"Duvall's team have been spotted hanging out at this place." Colby pressed the remote again and a series of surveillance shots of a bar frontage flickered onto the screen. "Joey's Bar. Known gin joint for vets, jarheads and grunts on leave and pretty much anyone else with a military jacket, discharge papers and a bank account that's running on empty. A lot of, well, let's call 'em _private contractors _recruit the patrons for CP, security and other heavy duty freelancing positions. We get you in there with a convincing jacket, wired up and try and get you into Duvall's team."

"Sweet. Undercover work. Haven't done that for a while!" Ian grinned. "Okay. Put me together something that if they check it out will be believable."

"Micky?" Diane glanced at her friend.

"Not a problem, Guv. I'll get on it right now." Micky made a few quick notes on a pad in front of him, still listening to the rest of the briefing.

"Good. So that's Duvall and Stobbard covered." Colby turned and looked at his team. "There's one other thing, guys. David took a call last night that rattled him a bit. At first it looked like someone in Washington wasn't too happy about him investigating Stobbard, but equally it could have been a covert head's up from someone who wants us to take a closer look at things. Either way, that means that there are gonna be people who _don't _want us prying into Stobbard's business, people who may be pretty high up the chain of command."

"You sayin' we got an inside problem here, Col?"

"Possibly. But that inside problem for whatever reason has their sites targeted on David in particular, not us. Now maybe David knows something that could be key to unlocking something bigger. We're kinda dealing with a hell of a lot of what ifs here, guys. All I know is that I've got a gut feeling that David's target of the week for someone." All humour left Colby's voice and a dangerous look flashed in his green eyes. "And I ain't gonna let anything happen to him on my watch." Everyone in the room nodded in unison. "Okay. Don's briefing Violent Crimes right now. We're tag teaming up on this one, but priority number one is David Sinclair's safety, am I clear on that?"

As one, the team voiced their agreement. "You got it, Col."

"Right, guys, let's get to work. Ian, work with Micky. Put together a jacket that's believable and position it so that if Duvall checks up it's gonna come back as kosher as a cream cheese and salmon bagel, got it?"

"Got it, boss."

"Danny and Doug, I want you working surveillance for Ian. Tim, get me everything you can on the rest of Duvall's team. Jackets, records, the whole nine yards."

"On it."

Colby turned to Diane. "I think we better talk through this whole Stobbard thing, don't you?"

"Uh-oh…" Doug grinned briefly at Micky but quickly wilted under a withering stare from Colby.

"You guys still here?" The room was filled with the sound of scraping chairs as the rest of the team filed out to their various tasks. Eventually, the room was empty except for Diane and Colby. Colby watched the last of his team leave and then turned to Diane, a playful smirk dancing around his lips. "Soo…"

"Oh, c'_mon_ Colby…" Diane crossed her arms and scowled.

Colby laughed heartily and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Baby, I know it's just business. C'mon, when have I _ever _been jealous of any guy with you?"

"Never."

"So?"

"So what?"

"What does that tell you?"

"That you're just in one of your bloody wind up moods today, you bugger!"

Colby laughed again and wrapped his other arm around Diane, embracing her gently. He kissed her softly on the lips and stroked back a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. "All I wanna know is that you're gonna be safe, baby. That's all. This Stobbard character. How dangerous is he?"

"Stobbard is an arrogant little pillock who thinks he's James bleedin' Bond and spends most of his time thinking with his downstairs brain, Granger. He might _deal _in guns, but I very much doubt he has the bollocks to face any of his own merchandise without peeing his pants. But any intel I can get from him could help us figure out why David got that phone call. Whether it _was _a threat or a head's up. And until we know the who, what, where and why of that, protecting David's going to be bloody difficult. I'm sure Stobbard is the key, like you said. Just how much of a Pandora's Box we're opening here I have no idea. But we have to look at every angle before we act. C'mon, you're intel. You know the rules." Diane's green eyes were serious.

"Okay. But you go with back up. Clear?"

"Oh great. So I'm gonna have a couple of Feds cramping my womanly wiles and seductive style…"

"No, not just a coupla Feds, baby. _Me_. Stobbard believes that you're PA to an international arms dealer, right?"

"Right."

"Okay then." Colby grinned broadly. "Meet Jack Higgins. Arms dealer extrordinaire and general all round, what's the phrase you use?"

"Ner'do'well?"

"Yep. That's the one. Look, it's a cover I've had in place for a while, ever since we took Damien Lake down. It's good to go. Stobbard's gonna try pulling you on Friday night, but I want you to keep it business. Suggest that he and I meet up. Persuade him I could put some nice deals his way. Let's see how big this guy's cojones really are."

A slow and rather nasty smile spread across Diane's lips. "Well, _Mister Higgins_, I'm sure I can shuffle your oh so busy schedule around and fit in a meeting as soon as possible. We've got a few days to get moving on this. Stobbard slipped his card into my pocket in Dubai, so I've got his direct personal number. Want me to make the call?"

"Yeah. Actually? We could do with pushing things forward on this, baby. Friday's five days away. A lot can happen in five days. See if you can arrange for a meet between him and me on, say, Wednesday?"

Diane kissed him briefly on the mouth. "I'm on it." She smiled briefly and broke free of the embrace. Colby sat back on the edge of the desk and watched her walk out of the war room.

"She's one hell of a woman, Col."

Colby glanced up. Standing in the opposite doorway that led into the corridor stood David. He smiled at his friend. "Hey buddy. Didn't see you standing there. You okay?"

David walked into the room, a smile on his lips. "Yeah, I'm good. Don's just finished briefing Violent Crimes."

"Good. So we're all on the same page. I'll go tell him what's happening our end." Colby stood up and paused, studying his friend's face. "Something wrong, David?"

David chuckled quietly. "No, brother. Just…just thanks."

"For what?"

"For having my back. I heard what you said earlier. About not letting anything happen to me on your watch."

"You heard that?"

"Yep."

"So you know that the whole team's on board too."

"I know. You got yourself a great team there, buddy."

Colby nodded and frowned briefly. "Just promise me you'll keep a vest on at all times, David."

"What, even in bed? Claudia ain't gonna like that look."

"Dude! _Way _too much information!" Colby looked horrified and David burst out laughing at the look on his friend's face.

"Guess I_ can _still shock those Idaho sensitivities of yours, Granger!"

"The Pastor would be horrified. I feel positively dirty!" Colby grinned broadly and patted his friend on the shoulder. "C'mon. Let's find Don. I wanna check in with him and bring him up to speed." The two men walked shoulder to shoulder out into the maelstrom of the Bullpen…

33333333

Joey's Bar was quiet. A handful of burly men with thousand yard stares, battle scars and a lifetime of bad memories sucked at beers and bourbon in the vain hope that the alcohol would dull the pain and make the flashbacks go away. A group of men were clustered around the pool table and a pile of ten-dollar bills on the side of the table showed that someone was getting hustled. Ian Edgerton took a swig of beer from the bottle he was nursing and glanced casually around the bar. Keeping the bottle close to his mouth to mask his lips, he muttered quietly into the radio mike that nestled against his wrist. "No sign of Duvall. Hunter, Pearce, Carroll and Filcher are in. Looks like they're waiting for someone. Possibly Duvall."

"_Copy that. Doug's got the rear entrance covered." _Danny's voice sounded tinny and distant in the earpiece that was pushed deep into Ian's right ear. The flesh coloured outer skin of the earpiece made it almost invisible to anyone who might throw a casual glance towards the quiet man at the bar. This was the first reccy. Get your face known. Don't approach the target immediately. Colby had been very clear on how he wanted Ian to play this first run. Ian was here merely to work out the layout of the bar, ingress, egress, possible problems. He had already noticed that the barman had a shotgun slung underneath the counter. In a bar like this it paid to have a level of protection just in case things got _interesting_.

Ian had already done a casual walkby on the table that Duvall's men were now sitting at. The tiny bug he'd pressed to the underside of the table would pick up any conversations that the men had. Dropping his keys had been his excuse for crouching down next to the table in full view of the men, and in a split second the bug had been planted. He'd gone to the men's room and emerged a few minutes later. The men had been none the wiser, although Hunter had studied him briefly as he walked back past them to his seat at the bar. He'd locked eyes with Hunter for a split second. Good. At least Hunter would now recognise him again…

Ian finished his beer and stood up, tossing a ten-dollar bill on the counter. "Cheers, buddy."

"Not a problem." The barkeep was a burly man with forearms as thick as most men's legs. A faded tattoo on his left forearm indicated that he had been a Marine, although years of good living and surreptitious shots of tequila had piled on the pounds. Ian doubted if the man would make it through the Marine assault course nowadays…

"You were in the Corps?" Ian had one more job to do on this first run. Establish that he was looking for work, looking for a gig, preferably one that paid plenty and didn't ask too many questions.

The barkeep grinned a toothless smile. "Hell yes! You?"

"Sniper. Eight years. Two tours of Afghanistan."

The barkeep held an enormous hand out and Ian shook it. "Semper Fi, brother! Semper Fi!" The barkeep chuckled. "Ain't seen you in here before. You new to LA?"

Ian nodded. "Yeah. Got discharged last month."

The barkeep leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You lookin' for work, my friend?"

Ian frowned briefly. "I might be. Not a lot of call for snipers down at the labour exchange, though."

"Oh, you never know. A guy like you? Plenty of people'd be glad to hire someone of your talents. You got a name, bro?"

"Ian. Ian Bankroft."

"Well Ian, drop by later on. I know a couple of people. Might be able to help get you on your feet, know what I mean?" The barkeep winked conspiratorially.

Ian smiled slowly back at the barkeep. Mission accomplished… "That would be great. Thanks brother. I'll catch you later." Ian nodded one last time at the barkeep and headed for the door. As he reached the entrance the door swung open. Ian caught it just in time to stop the edge of the door from hitting him in the face. Duvall stood in the doorway, glaring at Ian. Ian stepped back and held the door. "After you, bud." Duvall walked into the bar, his eyes still studying Ian closely. He paused, his blue eyes staring at Ian with a laser-like gaze.

"Do I know you?"

Ian shook his head, keeping his face completely neutral. "Nope. Should I know you?"

Duvall continued to stare for a few seconds longer and then seemed to come to a decision. "Non. It's probably for the best that you don't." The heavy French accent was full of menace. Ian chuckled quietly to himself and Duvall scowled even more. "Something funny, my friend?"

"Nope. Not at all." Ian chuckled again and walked out of the bar. Duvall watched the man's back as it receded into the crowd and the door swung shut. Claude Duvall walked up to the bar and caught the barkeep's eye. The big man waddled towards his new customer with a broad smile on his face.

"Mister Duvall. Good to see you again. Been a while. Got a real nice bottle of Cognac in." The barkeep pronounced the word 'cog-nak' and Claude visibly winced. The barkeep grinned again and reached under the counter, pulling out a bottle of Courvoisier brandy and poured his patron a glassful. Duvall took the proffered glass and raised it in salute to the barkeep. He drained the glass in one go and slapped the glass back on the counter.

"Joey, with brandy of that quality, I can forgive your little faux pas with the pronunciation, my friend. It's been too long. Yours is the only bar in LA that actually serves a decent drink!" Duvall gave Joey a smile.

"Well, I have to look after my patrons, now don't I? Even if they are French!" Joey let out a shout of laughter. "Your friends are already here." He nodded towards the table in the corner.

"Bon." Duvall nodded and then frowned. "Tell me. That man who just left. Who is he?"

"Ah, just some guy. Ex Marine sniper. Name of Ian Bankroft. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Oh, non, no problem. Just curious. Sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. A sniper who's kinda unemployed right now, if you get my drift." Duncan poured out another measure of brandy and pushed the glass towards Duvall. "Get a lot of guys like that in here. Why? You hiring?"

Duvall's hand stopped half way to his lips and the warm brandy wavered slightly in the glass. He stared intently at Joey, the friendliness of a few seconds earlier evaporating. Duncan took a step back. He'd crossed a line. Asked too many questions. It didn't pay to ask these kind of patrons about their business… Joey held his huge hands up. "Sorry, Mister Duvall. None of my business, I know."

Duvall took a sip of the brandy and smiled quietly. "Non, Joey, you are absolutely right. It is none of your business. But do me un petit service, s'il vous plaît?" He put the glass down and leaned on the bar towards the cowering Joey. "Find out about him, would you? You know, in your own inimitable way."

"I have no idea what inimitable means, Mister Duvall, but you got it. I'll speak to a buddy of mine in Virginia. Leave it with me." He looked terrified. Duvall's reputation was formidable and the Ex Marine knew he'd be no match in a fight against the Frenchman. He put the bottle on the counter and smiled nervously. "On the house."

Duvall straightened up and smiled, his right hand grasping the neck of the brandy bottle. "Merci, Joey. That's very decent of you. See that my friends and I are not disturbed, oui?"

"Oui, I mean, yeah, sure, Mister Duvall." Joey watched the powerfully built man walk towards the table and sighed quietly. He hated what he'd become. He had once been a fighting fit Marine, able to take on any man in a bar fight any night of the week, afraid of no one, let alone some son of a bitch Frenchman! Now? He cowered like some old time bar tender in a Western and it jarred with him. He resolved there and then to get shot of the extra hundred pounds he was carrying around his waist and try and find the man he'd once been…

In a quiet alley close to the bar the doors of a delivery van opened and Ian Edgerton slipped quietly in. Danny Smith and Doug Cross were sat at a bank of monitors, listening in on the conversation at the table. Doug looked up as Ian entered the van and grinned. "Well, Hawkeye, looks like you made quite an impression with our Alpha, old son! That second bug you planted on the underside of the bar's working like treat! Cop a load of this…" Doug reached over and flicked a switch. A tinny recording of Duvall's conversation with Joey played back.

Ian smiled enigmatically. "Excellent. That's the hook baited. Now let's see if they _bite_…"

_**TBC…**_


	5. Game Over

Disclaimer:

Righty-ho then kiddies, off we go again! As usual, I have no claim over the regular characters of Numb3rs or any connection with any gaming company that may or may not be mentioned during the telling of this 'ere story. I DO, however, own the Brits, the story and a rather nice 10 year old Malt that I'm saving for Christmas.

Usual warning for violence and bad language applies.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

333333333333333333333333

Richard Stobbard, international arms dealer and man of mystery in his own self-deluded world, kicked the front door of the hotel suite closed with one foot and tossed the Armani coat on the back of a chair. He stretched lazily and smiled, taking in the understated elegance of this thousand dollar a night crash pad. Cut crystal decanters filled with 10 year old Malt whisky lined a backlit bar and the expansive bed dominated the room. He wandered over to the double French windows that opened out onto a balcony, dragging his fingertips over the coffee-coloured material as he passed the silk throw that lay across the bed. He had every intention of ruffling that perfect, silky-smooth surface later on with a certain rather elegant and fiery red-head...

The suite was perfect. Everything a desirable, sophisticated and _rich _bachelor could want. Stobbard chuckled to himself. For a boy who had dragged himself up from humble beginnings in the inner city deprivation of Tottenham, North London, he'd done pretty well. Sure, he'd had to climb over the backs of others to get there. But after growing up on the rough streets of a council estate riddled with drugs and gun crime, he'd found the almost respectable world of arms dealing an easy environment to live in. Compared to his formative years spent dodging gangs and police with equal fear, staying one step ahead of the Feds was an easy task. Especially when you had the _right friends on the inside…_

Stobbard had been the wrong kind of person to grow up on a council estate that even the Police didn't like going onto. Thin, sickly and bespectacled, Stobbard had been a natural target for schoolyard bullies and street gangs looking for easy prey. He'd endured repeated beatings throughout his teenage years. But he'd survived – not because he had been clever or tough in any way, but because he had presented zero threat to the gangs that plagued his existence. He was so pathetic, so obviously a weak, nervous and painfully shy boy, that the gangs had never regarded him as any kind of real challenge. It was almost like kicking a puppy, and the gang bangers rapidly tired of it.

But Stobbard had been deeply affected by this dark and savage childhood. In his room he would play violent video games, acting out his fantasy revenge on his tormentors by blasting them in shoot-em-up games. He would visualise the faces of his bullies as he sprayed them with virtual bullets and watched their guts splatter across the rendered virtual streets. And as he wallowed in virtual revenge and simulated butchery, slowly a plan had started to form in his twisted, tormented, hate-filled mind. He knew he would never have the nerve to make his fantasy revenge scenarios a reality. But he had an ability that threatened the safety of any gang, no matter how powerful and untouchable they believed themselves to be.

He could play with people's minds.

He could turn one gang against another with a carefully placed comment, a whispered rumour or a faked gang tag on a rival gang's 'turf'.

His first venture into 'disassociated revenge', as he liked to call it, was to buy a tin of spray paint. Risking his personal safety one dark, wet evening, he scuttled out into the concrete jungle that always smelled of piss and wet rubbish bags. Checking that no eyes were watching him, he spray-painted a few thick, black lines onto the pebbledashed wall of the opposite tower block. Seemingly innocuous, they were just a few simple, black lines that at first glance were just another vandalism blot on the urban landscape. He tossed the still-full spray can into a dumpster and scuttled quickly back inside his own towerblock, returning to the relative safety and peeling paint of his home. His drunken father, passed out on the sofa in some alcohol-soaked nightly ritual, didn't even notice the passage of his timid son. Stobbard scurried up to his bedroom and slammed the door shut, bounding over to the bed that sat directly beneath the window. He pressed his nose against the glass and waited, a sense of dark, _sweet _anticipation filling him. From here he had a perfect view of his handiwork and knew that it was only a matter of time before it had the desired effect.

It had worked. Beautifully. Just a few short minutes later a local gang banger had cycled past on a BMX bicycle that looked several sizes too small for his bulky frame. Stobbard had watched with glee as the gang banger noticed the graffiti and stopped dead, staring at the rival tag on _his _gang's turf. It was a declaration of war. A rival tomcat's piss mark. An _insult_.

The resulting bloodletting over the following weeks between two gangs who had been itching for a fight for months got rid of at least five of Stobbard's regular tormentors. He'd watched with outward reverence and inward delight as five grief-stricken families buried their sons in elaborate and menace-filled funerals. Grieving gang members had struck poses of angry defiance as the coffins of five young men were gently lifted into five waiting hearses. The whole estate had come to a stop. The violence had claimed a total of seven lives and countless more injuries. It had only come to an end when the Police, sickened by a continuing spiral of tit-for-tat shootings and stabbings, swamped the estate one night and arrested anyone associated with either gang.

And it had all been started by one weak, pathetic and tormented boy. Richard Stobbard.

Stobbard had got a taste for revenge of this kind and over the following years honed it into a fine skill. He'd discovered an aptitude for being a non-threatening 'go between' and had slipped easily into the world of arms trading. The money had started to flow and, ever greedy for the things he'd never had as a boy, Stobbard indulged himself in a world of luxury, opulence and excess. But he never forgot where he'd come from. A poor, North London boy made good.

Perhaps that's why he'd been so mesmerised by 'Alex'. Perhaps he saw in her a kindred spirit. An East End girl made good. Stobbard stared out of the windows across the LA skyline to the famous 'Hollywood' sign nestling in the mountains beyond the city. He smiled to himself. Life was mighty fine right now. He was here to make money _and _have a good time. Nothing could go wrong…

A sharp chirrup made Stobbard abandon his daydreaming and turn quickly. He glanced at the Armani coat he'd casually disregarded a few moments earlier. The ring tone was distinctive. He knew exactly who was calling him. And when he called, it was _never _good news.

Stobbard walked quickly across the room and reached into the pocket of his coat. Pulling out the still-chirruping phone, he pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear. He paused, took a deep breath in and fixed into place his very best salesman persona. When he spoke, his voice was oiled and smooth, greased with his very best and most manipulative tone… "Howard! I was _just _about to call you…"

The voice at the other end of the phone was clipped and gruff. "_Bullshit. You had absolutely no reason to call me.** I **called **you** because I __**do **__have a reason."_

"Which is?"

"_We have a problem."_

"I see." Stobbard frowned. "Does this problem have a name?"

_"Sinclair. Agent David Sinclair…"_

3333333333

Two figured crouched behind the jagged remains of a wall. Above their heads bullets sang like angry bees and a shop front to their left exploded in a deadly hail of glass and concrete. The two figures instinctively flinched as a metal girder screamed over the top of the wall and impaled itself into the side of a car. The car immediately exploded into a ball of gasoline-fuelled death and destruction, scattering a lethal cloud of red-hot shrapnel in all directions. "We have gotta get to better cover!" Danny Smith's voice was sharp and harsh.

"Ya _THINK?" _There was a note of urgency and almost panic in Micky Cox's voice. "Yeah, well, tell that to those fuckin' snipers on the roof!" A scream sounded off to their left. "SHIT!" Micky swore passionately and one figure peeped carefully over the top of the wall. "We gotta get to that doorway, Dan!"

Dan glanced over at a door that had been blown off its hinges. It hung limply at one corner, vibrating and shuddering with each bullet that thumped into the splintered wood. "Moving!"

"GO!"

One figure leapt up from behind the crumbling wall and started sprinting for the doorway, weaving a zigzag path to dodge the hail of bullets that rained down from every rooftop. Danny's heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he could depend on Micky to cover his back, but there were just _too many_ of them…

"MOVE YOUR FAT FUCKIN' ARSE, SMITHY!"

"Where the fuck did you learn to shoot Cox? A fuckin' fairground penny arcade? Try FIRING _AT _THE FUCKERS, YOU TWAT!"

"I'm TRYING! I'M TRYING!" Micky's gun fired rapidly into the air, aiming wildly around the rooftops in the vain hope of hitting at least one target. He was keeping one eye on the figure moving towards the doorway. Suddenly, to his horror, he saw a bullet smash into the figure's neck and the body slumped lifeless to the floor. "NOOO!" Ah, FUCKIT!"

The screen went black.

"Hey! What the fu…" Danny, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his friend and still clutching the game consul, turned quickly. "Oh. _Bugger_…" Standing behind the sofa and still holding the television remote in his hand stood Colby, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Guys? _Really_?"

Micky turned, expecting to see the usual wry smile on Colby's lips when he caught his British friends up to their usual antics. This time there was no smile. Colby looked annoyed, and his green eyes flashed angrily. "Ah, c'mon Colby, we've been working non-stop for thirty six hours! We needed a bit of down time, mate."

"Down time? Call of Duty Black Ops-type downtime?" Colby dropped the remote onto the sofa and stood quietly, his arms crossed over his chest. He sniffed sharply. Micky knew that sniff for what it was – one of Colby's 'tells' that warned those nearby that the big man was getting angry. He dropped his consul onto the floor and stood up sheepishly.

"Sorry Col. We got everything covered, mate, straight up. Ian's got a good in with Duvall and Dee's arranging the meet with Stobbard. David's okay, so we thought…"

"…So you thought you'd take a quick time out and chill, right?" Colby's interruption was said in a quiet and neutral voice, but both Englishmen could detect a dangerous undertone that warned them to make their next words careful and considered…

Danny stood up next to Micky and the two men faced their boss like two naughty schoolboys facing an angry headmaster. "Sorry, boss. It won't happen again."

"Of course it will. Just make sure that the next time you decide to allocate yourself a bit of R and R it's an appropriate time to do it, okay?" Colby's voice was still neutral. In a way, that made the reprimand worse.

"Copy that, boss." Both Englishmen spoke as one.

Colby nodded and sniffed again. "Good. Oh, and one other thing…" He picked up the DVD case and studied the stylised artwork of some advertising guru's idea of a Special Forces team attacking an urban landscape. He looked up at his two friends, studying their apologetic faces without a hint of humour on his lips. But Micky could see that the hard, green eyes had softened and that characteristic mischievous twinkle had returned once more…

"What's that, boss?"

Colby suddenly grinned broadly. "If you're gonna try getting to that doorway into the public library from behind that wall, you may wanna choose the right hand side next time instead of the left. The sniper on top of the belltower's got a clear shot of you if you stay left but if you run right you're directly underneath him. Then all Micky's gotta do is do a one shot takeout on the bad guy on the roof of City hall and you're free and clear. Watch out for the trip wire right after you go through the doorway, though. That fucker caught me out last week when I was playing with Dee." Colby paused and studied his two friends who were staring at him wide-eyed in amusement. "_What_?" He grinned and shrugged. "So we like to play computer games sometimes! The surf was flat! We had to do _something _to amuse ourselves!"

Micky suddenly let out a shout of laughter. "You bugger, Granger!"

Colby grinned at his friend, but there was still a hint of rebuke in his voice. "Dude, I know you gotta let off a bit of steam sometimes, but seriously man, we're right in the middle of a case here."

"You got something?" The lure of video games and the sting of the reprimand had instantly passed and Danny switched back into 'business mode'.

"Possibly." Colby walked around and sat down on the sofa. Micky noticed that there were dark circles beginning to ring the big American's green eyes. Colby looked tired. It made the Englishman realise once again how seriously Colby was taking the perceived threat on David's life… "We've been doing some deep background checking on Stobbard and his connections in Washington."

"And?"

"And, Danny, he's been very careful to cover his tracks every step of the way. The files you turned up are all clean, Mick."

Micky nodded. "Yeah, I said that right from the get-go, mate."

Colby glanced at his friend. "I know. But didn't something odd strike you about that, bud?"

"Like?"

"Like maybe those files were a little _too _clean? _Too _damn perfect?"

"Ah now, ya see, I don't have one of those overly suspicious, devious little spook minds like you and Dee, mate!" Micky grinned. "I'm more your literal type, old son. I leave all the spy shit to people like you. So to me I suppose…"

"…Well then you'd better start developing an overly suspicious, devious little spook mind _real quick_, Micky, because that's the kinda people we're up against." Colby's voice was sharper than he had meant it to be. He sighed. "Sorry, man. Guess I'm just a little frazzled right now." He rubbed his eyes and blinked hard, trying to refocus his tired mind. "Anyhoo, we did find one chink in the armour. We got a court order and took a look at his finances. He's just recently deposited one hundred thousand dollars into an account in the Cayman Islands. And yesterday, someone accessed that account."

"Who?" Danny's attention was now fixed on his boss.

"Claude Duvall."

"Shit! So there _is _a direct link between him and Duvall!"

Colby nodded. "Yep. Took some real digging to find it, but yeah, our arms dealer does tend to keep some very undesirable company. Pretty recently too. Six are keeping tabs on his calls and it seems the chatter's going up, not down. Something's due to go down and Stobbard's calling in Duvall for babysitting duty. That means he's either real nervous about something, or he needs some heavy artillery."

"Col, Dee's meeting with Stobbard." Micky's voice was suddenly very serious and filled with concern. "If this bugger's as nasty as his jacket says so then it could get pretty fuckin' dodgy for her, mate…"

"I know, bud. Which is why the plans have changed a little. We're working on something that'll make sure Dee's got back-up when she goes for this meet, just in case. Stobbard's not stupid. He's weak and from what I've read he's a real yellowbellied coward but he _ain't _stupid." Colby sighed again. "Listen, I'm gonna head home and grab some zees. I suggest you do the same, guys, 'cause I'm gonna need you both sharp tomorrow, okay?"

"You got it, boss." Micky nodded and watched as his boss got slowly to his feet and stretched his back.

"Okay. I'll catch up with you at oh six hundred back at the Bureau. Take it easy, guys." Colby waved a hand half-heartedly and turned, heading towards the door.

Danny and Micky watched as their boss quietly closed the door behind him and then turned instantly back to the television screen, dropping down onto the sofa and scooping up the consuls. Micky groped around between the cushions and recovered the remote control Colby had dropped earlier. He pointed it towards the screen and pressed a button. "Right then. Where were we?" Both men grinned broadly and settled back into the comfortable sofa.

From the other side of Micky's apartment door, Colby could hear a sudden explosion of sound and the chatter of simulated gunfire as the game burst into bloody, violent life once again. A muffled string of four letter words and a crystal clear, "LEFT, Cox, you PILLOCK! Remember? Colby said stay LEFT!" and an equally passionate "NO, you pratt, he said stay RIGHT!" made him chuckle quietly to himself. His friends may have been two of the best soldiers in the world, but they were certainly two of the worst gamers he'd ever seen…

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Ian fidgeted with the collar of his jacket and glanced around Joey's bar. A bottle of beer sat in front of him, open but untouched. He knew eyes were watching him, so he picked up the bottle and took a mouthful of beer. Look natural. Look like you _belong _here. Ian frowned to himself. He had some experience of undercover work, but not nearly as much as Granger or Armstrong. _They _were the real experts at this sort of shit, not him. But he had the skills needed to convince Duvall that 'Ian Bankroft' was the man he needed to replace the incarcerated Duncan Jones. Duvall always operated with at least one sharp-shooter in the team. Ian was hoping the forthcoming meeting with the Frenchman would insert him into the role.

He fidgeted again with his collar, being careful not to knock the tiny transmitter Doug Cross had attached to the underside of the material. The minute piece of high-tech had been graciously supplied by MI6's technical boffins. Ian had remarked how he really didn't believe up until that moment that Six actually had a 'Q' division producing all kinds of covert surveillance equipment. Doug had chuckled quietly. "Oh, believe it, mate. We really _do _have an underground workshop full of exploding mannequins, watches that shoot laser beams out of 'em and Aston Martin DB5 convertibles with rocket launchers and ejector seats, old son!" Ian had conceded to the British superiority when it came to developing devious and cunning technology and had stood patiently while Doug wired him up for sound.

"_Ian, for fuck's sake, will you stop with the fiddling already? The crackling's bloody deafening me!" _Doug's voice sounded tinny and distant in Ian's ear. The receiver was tiny and had required a pair of tweezers to insert it into Ian's ear canal, but at least it wasn't visible from the outside. Ian could maintain communications with Doug throughout the operation and transmit back to him just as easily, thanks to the transmitter that sat on the inside of his jacket collar. The only problem was that both transmitter and receiver had a limited range, and they weren't set up for a rolling surveillance. Ian was going to have to keep things fixed to one location, and he didn't know how easy that was going to be…

Ian didn't risk a reply. He could feel two pairs of eyes boring into his back and Joey the barman kept glancing over in his direction. He felt like a mouse in the middle of an open field being circled by hungry hawks. For a man who was used to being the hawk, it was an uncomfortable feeling.

"Ian Bankroft?" The voice was heavily accented and menacing. Ian turned and looked straight into the eyes of Claude Duvall. Behind those eyes he could see an utterly ruthless, merciless man. A true mercenary. A true soldier of fortune. And a true bastard of the highest order…

"Yeah?"

Claude Duvall slipped onto the barstool next to Ian and waved a hand at Joey to catch his attention. At the other end of the bar Joey nodded and reached under the counter. Ian braced himself and instantly relaxed again as he saw the barkeep pull out a bottle of brandy. Joey poured some of the liquid into a glass and trotted up the bar, placing the glass on a paper coaster in front of Duvall. Duvall nodded his thanks and waited for Joey to move away again. He picked up the glass and took a sip of the golden brown liquid. He knew he was keeping Ian waiting, but it was all part of his plan to make the man feel uncomfortable – to let him know that it was _Duvall _who was in charge of this conversation, not Ian.

Ian recognised the tactic for what it was and played along…

Eventually, after savouring the warm glow of the brandy for a few seconds, Duvall turned to Ian and studied him carefully. "You were in here the other day, non?"

"And?"

"I understand you are, how shall I put this…_between employers_ right now?"

Ian took a swig of his own drink, playing Duvall at his own game. "I might be. What's it to you, bud?"

"Let's not play games, Monsieur Bankroft. Are you looking for work or are you not?"

"Depends on the kinda work, pal."

Duvall smiled. "Oh, the kind of work that pays well, my friend, the kind that pays _very_ well. But how about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?"

Ian scowled in mock annoyance. "Shit man, what are you, tryin' to pick me up or something? Listen buddy, I don't swing that way, okay?"

Duvall laughed. "Ah, you Americans! Always convinced that you're the centre of attention, non? Believe me, Ian, may I call you Ian? Believe me Ian, I do not, as you say, _swing that way _either." All trace of amusement suddenly vanished in an instant. "I _do_, however, have a business proposal that will ease your current rather pressing financial anxieties. _If _you're interested, that is."

Sweet.

From that single comment Ian instantly knew that they'd checked up on him and had swallowed the fake 'jacket' Micky had created for him hook, line and sinker. A carefully constructed paper chain had made sure that anyone checking up on 'Ian Bankroft' would discover a Marine with a dubious military record and a shaky financial situation. Duvall had run a suspicious eye over the information Joey's Virginia contact had provided him with and the story had held up. Micky Cox had created a jacket that was not too perfect but convincing enough to fool the wily Frenchman. But still Ian knew he had to avoid appearing too eager to finally convince Duvall that he was the right man for the job. He frowned at the man and protested sharply. "You been checkin' up on me, buddy?"

"Of course. Wouldn't you?" Duvall smiled benignly at Ian and took another mouthful of brandy. "Now. If you _are _interested in making a little pocket money my friend, then I may have need of your specialist skills. Shall we go somewhere more private, or shall I just wish you bon chance and let you finish your beer in peace? I wonder though, how many _more _of those beers you can afford, mon ami…" Duvall abruptly stood up, drained the last of the liquid from his glass and walked towards the door without looking back.

Ian had no choice. He tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter and followed Duvall out of the bar. He could hear Doug's voice in his ear. "_Ian, I'm losing you, mate…" _The voice crackled and hissed and he knew that he was almost out of the transmitter's range. It couldn't be helped. He _had _to go through with this meet, back-up or no back-up.

Duvall walked towards a parked Dodge Charger and pressed a key fob. The car chirruped in response and the indicators flashed briefly. He opened the driver's door and climbed in. Reaching across, he flipped open the passenger door just as Ian reached the black truck. Duvall grinned nastily. "Well? In or out, Monsieur Bankroft?"

Ian knew that this could be a trap. It _screamed _trap. Every instinct told him _not to get in that car._ But that was undercover work for you. It went against every instinct you had. And he _had _to do it…

Ian climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. He looked straight at Duvall and in a flat, hard voice spoke just one word.

"In…"

33333333

"Shit!" Doug Cross swore and ripped the headphones off his head. In the cramped quarters of the surveillance van he reached across and flicked a couple of switches. Nothing. He'd lost all comms with Ian. This was _not _part of the plan… He grabbed a phone and started to dial Colby's number, but then hesitated. Doug had been in intelligence long enough to know that sometimes you had to let a bluff play out. He closed the phone and put it back on the shelf above the bank of monitors. Sitting back in his chair, he let out a sigh and waited. This was Ian's call now…

3333333

The Dodge Charger drove sedately through the light night time traffic of LA. Ian kept his eyes fixed on the road, waiting for Duvall to speak. Eventually, the Frenchman turned into a side street and pulled up to the side of an old, abandoned warehouse. "This place has been in Chapter 11 for months. _Very _private." Duvall killed the engine and pulled on the parking brake. "Come." He climbed out of the Dodge and walked quickly towards the warehouse. Ian quickly checked his pistol was still nestled in its holster and followed the Frenchman.

The warehouse was filled with broken mannequins, bolts of cloth and old sewing machines. It was a sweatshop that had stopped sweating, yet the pungent tang of starch, chemicals and stale air still grabbed at Ian's throat and nostrils. Thick dust on the floor confirmed Duvall's story that nobody had visited this place in months. Nobody except Duvall and – Ian glanced briefly at the tracks in the dust – three other men had passed this way.

Ian followed Duvall up a set of rickety stairs and into an office that perched above the banks of silent sewing machines. Inside the office was still kitted out, but it had that dilapidated look that spoke of months of disregard and abandonment. Duvall flicked on a lightswitch and a dim bulb battled valiantly to push back the gloom. Ian kept his back to the door, watching Duvall's every move. They seemed to be the only two people there, despite the tracks he had spotted in the dust. Duvall slumped down onto a battered old office chair and steepled his fingers, studying Ian.

"So my sources tell me that you are a sniper, oui?"

"Yes." Ian felt like he was attending the world's most dangerous job interview.

"And from what I've read here," Duvall opened a file and waved a hand across the spread pages, "you are in rather a lot of debt with a certain bookie, n'est pas?"

"Where ya going with this, bud?"

Duvall smiled. "I have a little job that could clear your debt in one go. You see, a friend of mine has a problem that he needs solved. You solve it, this would be a good thing for both of us. It also tells _me_ that you are who you say you are." Duvall sat back. "How many men have you killed?"

Ian was taken aback by the question. "Excuse me?"

"How many? You say you're a sniper? Then I presume you have killed."

"Of course I have."

"So you have no problem in taking a life?" Ian didn't answer. The cold look in his dark eyes told Duvall everything he needed to know. Duvall chuckled quietly and nodded. "Bon. Then do this small job for me and I promise you my friend, there will be no more debt and plenty more work." Duvall studied the man for any sign of a reaction. Ian made sure that his scrutiny was rewarded and let a small smile flicker across his lips.

"So who's the target?"

Duvall sat forward and rifled through the pages in the file until he found a photograph. Sliding the image out from between two sheets of paper, he pushed it across the desk so that Ian could see the face of the man he was being asked to kill.

Ian leaned forward and looked at the picture. Realisation flooded through him and he felt his knees almost buckle under him. It took every ounce of restraint he had to stop himself from drawing his gun there and then and putting a bullet straight between Duvall's eyes. He knew the face in the picture well. _Too _well…

3333333

"Hey David! Wait up!" Don jogged up the walkway towards the front of the Bureau with Colby in close pursuit. David Sinclair turned and grinned as his two best friends jogged towards him. It never failed to surprise him how much energy the two men had even at this early hour. Although it was only just before six am there were still plenty of agents arriving for their shift – another day of fighting crime, terrorism and all the other ills of a modern, gun-ridden society. He smiled broadly at the two men and waited for them to catch up.

"Hi guys…"

Don and Colby were just a few steps away when a sharp crack resounded through the hot LA morning air. Colby's eyes widened in horror as he saw a dark stain start to spread across David's immaculate suit jacket. "_DAVID!"_

Time seemed to slow down.

David felt the thump of a bullet pound into his body. He stood absolutely still, confused for a second. There was no pain, just a heavy, numb feeling spreading through his body. He glanced down at the damp patch on his jacket and then back at his friends, confusion and bewilderment in his eyes. He watched as they ran towards him, desperate concern and fear in their eyes. All around him in silent slow motion, men and women dived for cover as the realisation kicked in that a sniper was picking off targets from an unseen vantage point.

Finally, the numbness spread to David's legs and he dropped straight down onto his knees…

"NO!" Colby reached his friend first, grabbing him around the waist and dragging him behind a low wall to his right. Don skidded and dropped behind the wall, his gun already drawn and hunting vainly for the source of the bullets. It could have come from any one of a hundred vantage points that overlooked the walkway…

"David! David, look at me! Stay with me, man, stay with me! DAVID, _LOOK AT ME_!" Colby cradled his friend in his arms, panic and fear making his voice shrill. He pulled the jacket back to reveal an ugly red stain on the perfectly pressed white shirt.

"Colby!" Don glanced over at the two men, the knot in his stomach tightening as he saw the bloodstained shirt. David was hit. The sniper was still out there. They were crouched behind a low wall and he knew full well that if they tried to make the dash to the safety of the Bureau doorway the sniper would pick them off as easily as plucking apples from a tree…

Colby ignored Don's cry and carefully laid David flat on the concrete slabs. He ripped off his own jacket and tore off a sleeve, folding the rest of the jacket into a pillow and placing it carefully behind David's head. He tore open David's shirt and pressed the ragged sleeve against the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. It wasn't a kill shot but if they didn't get David to a hospital pretty damn quickly he was going to bleed out right there in front of him…

David looked up into the panicked eyes of his friend, unable to hide the pain that now flooded through his body. "Colby…" His voice cracked and his head sank back into the makeshift pillow, unable to fight off the onset of unconsciousness any longer. As the blackness overtook him he could hear Colby's frantic voice fading into nothingness.

"David! NO, C'MON MAN, _NO! DAVID! DAVID, look at me! DAVID!"_

_**TBC…**_

.


	6. Shades of Grey

Disclaimer & author's apology:

Firstly, the apology. I'm so sorry it has taken me so bloody long to update this story, but real life and work commitments have taken priority over the last few weeks. Thank you all for being patient and bearing with me and I hope that over the next few weeks I can make it up to you all with some more regular updates.

Now the disclaimer bit. Numb3rs not mine. I own nada to do with it and certainly don't make any profit out of this. If I did, do you honestly think I'd have taken this bloody long to update?

Anyhoo, the Brits and the story are mine, the rest belongy Cheryl and Nick.

Warning for some particularly colourful Anglo-Saxon expletive-laden tirades this episode so if a typical Aldershot barrack-room bollocking is likely to offend, please skip the phone conversation with Doug and Diane because it might just make your eyes bleed…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**33333333333333333333333333**

Don stepped out of the elevator and looked down a corridor thronged with busy nurses and doctors, all quietly and efficiently going about the daily job of saving lives.

Sitting utterly alone was a forlorn figure, the head dropped and the hands clasped together almost as if the man was praying fervently. Colby looked devastated. Don could still see the blood stains tainting the big man's crumpled shirt.

"Hey Col." Don sat down next to the silent man and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "How's he doing?"

Colby's voice was cracked and broken and Don could hear the desperate concern in his words. "I dunno, man. I dunno…" Slowly, Colby opened his eyes and looked at his boss. Don could see layer upon layer of pain and self-loathing in the man's green eyes. "They…um…" Colby stopped, took a deep, shaking breath and tried to compose himself. "They got him straight into Triage as soon as we arrived. Nobody's told me anything since. I guess that's good, right?" There was a ring of desperate hopefulness in those last words and Colby, in a moment of self-doubt, looked to Don to confirm that yeah, everything _would _be okay. Don gave Colby a reassuring smile, but he still couldn't hide his own gutclenching concern for David from the younger man. Colby's head dropped again and he studied the chequered floor intently, wrapped up in his own remorse for breaking the promise he'd made to his friend. He'd sworn to protect him. He'd failed…

Don knew exactly how Colby was feeling. He was David's boss. It was his job _every day_ to protect him as best he could. And he'd failed to do that too. What made it worse is that David had been gunned down right in front of the Federal building. It was almost like adding insult to injury… Don sighed heavily. "Col, if the worst had happened we'd know by now. C'mon, man. You know David. He ain't gonna let a bullet slow him down!" Don put as much positivity into the words as he could.

Colby didn't answer straight away. He simply sat, staring blankly at the tiled floor, his hands balled into tight fists so tense that the skin stretched across his knuckles had turned white. Eventually, a few quiet words slipped past his clenched teeth.

"I let him down, man. I said I'd watch his back. I'm his _partner_, Don. I should've seen it coming, man, I should've…" Colby's hoarse whisper trailed off mid-sentence. It was filled with self-accusatory derision. It pained Don to hear the normally strong man sound so fragile…

It also gave him a little buzz of pride that, although Colby was now in charge of his own team, he still regarded David as his partner. He'd created one hell of a tight knit team here. The best in the whole damn FBI…"Col, this isn't your fault! And if David heard you talk like that he'd kick your ass!" Don's fingers flexed on his friend's shoulder, trying to convey some reassurance. He could see how personally Colby was taking this, but he knew that blaming himself wouldn't make Colby feel any better or think any clearer. Right now, Don needed him to focus on the who and why, not what ifs.

Colby allowed a fleeting smile to flicker across his lips. "Yeah, I guess so. But that still doesn't make it right, Don. And it sure as hell doesn't make me feel any better for lettin' him down."

"So it's up to us to do what we do best, bud. It's up to us to _make _it right. We need to find out who, and why. And as for feelin' better, what, you want absolution for something that wasn't your damn fault, Colby? You want forgiveness, get religion. You wanna help David, then _focus!_" Don tried to make his hard words seem a little gentler with a reassuring flicker of a smile. He knew Colby. He knew that right now someone had hit Granger where he was weakest – by hurting someone he cared deeply about. They'd hurt his best friend. A best friend that Colby had sworn to protect. And right now Colby was beating the crap out of himself for, in his mind, 'letting it happen'.

That meant that it was up to him to step up not as Colby's friend but as his _boss _and get Granger back on track. He needed to remind Colby to focus all that emotion, all that anger and all that self-loathing for 'letting David down' into a pinpointed laser-beam of energy that would be of real help. He didn't need Colby rudderless and emotional right now. He needed Colby at his best – clinically professional and ruthlessly efficient.

Colby rubbed his hand over his face and sniffed sharply. Don felt the powerful muscles in the younger man's shoulders tense up and in a second, Colby's posture changed noticeably. Don smiled to himself. He knew _exactly _which buttons to press with Granger to get him back in the game…

Colby looked at Don and allowed the briefest of smiles to flash across his face. "Thanks, bud."

"For what?"

"For that real subtle kick up the ass."

Don chuckled gently. "Col, you know perfectly well that there's _nothing _you could've done to stop that sniper from pulling the trigger this morning. But what we _can _do is find out who the bastard was and put them away for the rest of their goddamn lives, okay?"

"Understood." The short, sharply spoken word told Don that Colby was back in 'business mode', as the Brits liked to call it. But there was still a flicker of doubt in Don's mind. He knew how easily Colby could yo-yo between emotional states. Don wondered for a moment if he had yo-yoed too far in the opposite direction…

He patted his friend on the shoulder and sat back in the hard plastic chair. For a moment the two men sat in silence – each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Eventually, Don let out a sigh and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs and steepling his fingers. He could almost feel the waves of restless, churning energy flooding from Colby. Now he'd managed to snap the big man out of his brief descent into melancholy, he could sense that Granger was on the upswing and getting anxious to be _doing_ rather than just thinking. He was itching to start kicking doors in again. And that could be just as dangerous…

"Okay Col, let's look at this logically." The simple statement was enough to immediately grab Colby's attention on his boss and Don knew he had Colby's undivided attention. "What's your analysis of this morning, bud?"

"Logic says that whoever took that shot was a pro, Don. Vantage point must have been within a four hundred meter range. Even with a point three oh eight that's a hell of a shot." Colby's expression changed from one of worry and remorse to a concentrated and focused professionalism on the facts. "Muzzle velocity is about two thousand seven hundred feet per second, which would account for the slight delay between impact and audio response of about half a second. That puts him reasonably close, Don. Between six to eight hundred feet away. But that's still no amateur shot dude, not by any stretch of the imagination. That's why I'm sure our sniper's a pro, probably military trained. As soon as we know the angle of entry, we can backtrack the bullet's path and find the sniper's vantage point."

Colby ran a hand over his face and let out a heavy sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, robotic, emotionless. "Best person to talk to is Ian. He'd be able to figure out where that sniper was posted in a heartbeat. Shame Charlie's still in England, but I guess our ballistics guys know their stuff without the wizzkid's help. But, ya know? There's something weird here…" Colby paused for a moment and looked thoughtful. Don recognised that look. Colby's real gift when it came to investigations was his extraordinary ability to sniff out a tiny detail that everyone else would overlook. If a shadow in a picture was wrong, it would be Colby who would spot it and make the connection to an incorrect time stamp. It would be Colby who would notice the out of place book at a crime scene or the single word in a witness's statement that would point them in the right direction. And that quiet, thoughtful look always preceded one of those moments when 'the team bloodhound', as Don had personally nicknamed Granger, would sniff out that one, vital clue…

"You got somethin', Col?"

"The sniper used a laser sight."

"Huh?" Don frowned briefly, trying to unravel Colby's reasoning.

"A laser sight. For a shot of that distance?" Colby snorted sharply. "Nah. That's kinda weird, bud. Laser sights are usually only used relatively close up, not for that kinda distance, well, not the distance we're assuming the sniper was initially, that is." Colby turned abruptly to face Don. "If he was laser sighting, it narrows down our search pattern, Don. We can eliminate all the buildings beyond a, say, two, maybe three hundred meter radius. Any further than that and the sniper would've used a different sight. Laser sights are too much of a giveaway over a distance. And like I said, our guy was no amateur. That's why the laser sight doesn't make any sense. It's an amateur mistake for a sniper to make. If we check the CCTV cams outside the building we may be able to catch the light from the laser and follow its trajectory. That'll pinpoint the sniper point exactly. If we can get the CCTV footage from whatever building the sniper was using, we might even be able to get a face, Don. We know the exact time so it shouldn't take too much searchin', bud." Colby paused briefly and frowned. "Wish your brother was here, man. He'd be able to work the math out better than me."

Don smiled briefly. "Actually bud? I think you've pretty much just sat and done the math already!"

For the first time since he'd arrived at the hospital, Don saw a genuine smile cross Colby's lips. "Guess your brother's little imagine a dog chasing a cat chasing a mouse scenarios must be sinking in, bud. Some of this math shit seem to be sticking!"

Don chuckled quietly. "Who knew?" He patted Colby on the shoulder. "But I still think we need to talk to Ian. You got any idea where he is?"

"Not exactly, nope."

Don frowned. "How come?"

"He's undercover. Wanna keep contact to a minimum to avoid any chance of a bust, dude. I got Doug watchin' his back."

"I thought you'd be handling him yourself, what with your undercover experience, Col."

"Don, you don't _handle_ someone like Ian. You trust 'em and let 'em have enough leash to get the job done." Colby frowned briefly. "Something wrong, Don?"

Don shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Because I know you well enough to realise when you ain't too happy with something. You got this vein on your forehead that starts throbbin'…" Colby tapped the middle of his forehead and grinned briefly.

"Col, you been talking to Megan?"

Colby looked momentarily confused. "What? No, why?"

"Because she said the exact same thing to me a few years back. And yeah. I guess you're right. Look Col, I know you trust your team implicitly bud, but Ian…"

A cold, hard look flashed into Colby's eyes. "But Ian _what_, Don?"

Don chose his words carefully. While he had the utmost respect for Ian Edgerton, there had always been a distance and an element of mistrust between them. Ever since the Crystal Hoyle case. Don had been so desperate to find Megan before Hoyle killed her that he had crossed lines he never dreamed he would cross before. The only person who had pulled him up on it had been Colby. But Edgerton had been perfectly willing to cross those lines, and it had unsettled Don deeply. He had spent months struggling with his own internal demons over the whole affair and had eventually come to the conclusion that, while Ian Edgerton was an outstanding FBI agent, he was also an unstable, devious and dangerous son of a bitch. And while Colby could be just as unstable, devious and dangerous, _he_ had his _good _days. Ian was like that all the damn time… "Col, I'm not questioning how you run your team. I know you guys have a…well, a slightly _different_ approach to fighting crime, okay? But Ian…"

"…Is a bit of a lose canon. Yeah, I know, Don. But we're dealing with some very dangerous people who don't play nice, bud. Sometimes you have to play to their rules to beat 'em." There was an unusual harshness in Colby's normally soft voice that made an alarm sound in Don's head. He'd heard that tone before. And it wasn't a good one…

Don scowled briefly. "And your guys are willing to play to those rules, right?" He spoke slowly and carefully. He might know how to press Colby's buttons to get him into action, but by questioning just how much Colby trusted his team, Don had inadvertently pushed a very much more dangerous button. He needed to know just how far Colby was willing to go…

Colby didn't answer immediately. That cold, hard look was still obvious in his eyes – a look that disturbed Don. "If necessary, yes!" Colby stood up suddenly. "And right now?" He jabbed a finger towards the doors of the ICU. "I'd kinda say it was necessary, wouldn't you?" The green eyes bored into Don's own brown orbs. It almost felt to Don as if Colby were looking straight through him, stripping away his 'boss' exterior and speaking to the man inside the FBI mask. He was speaking directly to Don as a friend. A friend he trusted. A friend he knew had crossed lines before. It was almost as if Granger was acknowledging his own willingness to cross those same lines in the pursuit of David's assailant. Was he asking Don to rein him back in, as he had done to Don all those years earlier? Or was he just telling Don that, no matter what, he would bring that sniper to justice, even if it meant going against every principle he held dear? For a split second, Don realised that Colby was on the edge. All the composure, the careful analysis of the muzzle velocity of a 308 rifle…all that was just a front hiding a man who was ready to hunt a man down for _vengeance_, rather than justice. What Don said next could determine the rest of Colby's future in the Bureau…

Don kept his face neutral, but there was a hard caste to his brown eyes. He stood up slowly and turned to face Colby. They were inches apart and a sudden snarl twisted Don's face. He may be Colby's friend, but right now it was time to be his _boss_…

"You listen to me, Colby, and you listen _good_. We hunt this bastard down and we _bring him in alive_, Colby. _Justice_, understand? _Justice._ Not_ revenge_. Are we clear on that? You do everything by the _book_, Colby. Everything. You keep that team of yours on a tight leash and that _includes_ Ian." He held a hand up to stop any interruption. "Colby, if it were you lying in that bed instead of David, what would you want _him_ to do on your behalf? Huh? Would you want him to turn against everything he believes in and go in all guns blazing and damn the consequences? Or would you want it done the _right _way?" Although his words were hard and cold, there was a hidden gentleness behind them. He'd seen David 'talk Colby down' on more than one occasion. He sincerely hoped that he could do as good a job himself right now…

For a few seconds the two men stood motionless, staring straight at each other. Then Don noticed just the tiniest flicker in Colby's eyes and the man's head dropped. He nodded slowly and in a soft voice spoke just two simple words. "Yes, sir."

Don knew in that second that he'd managed to pull Colby back into line. He laid a gentle hand on the younger man's powerful shoulder and smiled. "Colby, don't _ever _call me sir, okay?"

Colby's head lifted and a flicker of a smile crossed his lips. "I could always call you buggerlugs if you prefer."

Don laughed quietly. "Dude, you have been hangin' with those Brit friends of yours _way_ too much! And, what does that even _mean_?"

"Honestly? I have no freakin' idea, Don…"

"Agent Granger?" A white-coated doctor stood in front of the two men. They had been unaware of his almost silent approach but now his presence seemed to fill their entire world. Colby stood stock still, dreading the doctor's next words but praying for him to end the uncertainty and anxiety he felt for the wellbeing of his best friend.

"How is he?"

The doctor smiled gently at the big man. His natural empathy told him everything he needed to know about how the outwardly tough FBI agent was feeling right now. He was glad to be the bearer of good news…

"Awake. He's asking for you…"

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Doug snapped his phone shut and closed his eyes slowly. Micky had broken the news to him. David was down. Shot by a sniper outside the damn office. Right in front of Colby and Don. They suspected that whoever had ordered the hit on David had connections with Stobbard and David's investigation in Washington. Stobbard had connections with Duvall and his band of bastards. Ian was a sniper. Ian was with Duvall right now. Doug joined the dots mentally and didn't like the picture they started to draw…

"Shit. Shit, shit, _SHIT!"_ He hurled the phone across the van, ignoring the sound of a very expensive Blackberry shattering against a metal strut. He'd fucked up. _Royally_. He'd lost contact with Ian and instead of calling it in he'd sat on it. Ian had dropped off the face of the damn earth and right now Doug had absolutely _no damn idea_ where the bastard was. He'd dropped the ball. He _should've_ called it in! Now David Sinclair was lying in a hospital bed, Ian was AWOL and Colby was probably ready to start tearing off heads right about now. What in the FUCK had happened?

Doug wiped a hand over his face and took a deep breath in. Okay. Think. He reached down and picked up what was left of the Blackberry. Its tiny keyboard clung to the body by a couple of thin wires, dangling forlornly like a body on a gibbet. "Well, _that's _fucked, then." Doug tossed the shattered remains of the phone back onto the floor and reached into a hold-all. "Always have two phones. Especially if you were prone to chucking your bleedin' toys out of the pram in a hissy fit, you pillock!" Doug muttered his own chastisement and turned the spare phone on. "Bars, you sod, give me some bars!" He hissed angrily at the fluorescent screen and watched the signal bar clamber up from a mere dot into five strong bars. Doug immediately punched in a number, pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

"_Doug."_

"Guv. Listen. I've got a bit of a problem."

"_With the greatest respect Dougie, unless this in any way concerns David's 'bit of a bleedin' problem' I don't want to hear it right now, okay?" _Doug could hear the scream of a set of tortured Land Rover tyres taking a corner _way_ too fast and the wailing of the Landy's blues and twos in the background. Diane was tearing every single kicking, screaming horse out of that engine to get to County General as fast as she could. He could also hear the agitated concern in Diane's voice. She and David had become firm friends over the years and she was deeply upset at his attempted assassination. And Doug knew full well that when the Guv got 'deeply upset', people tended to get 'deeply hurt'…

"Guv, it's Ian. I've lost contact with him. He met with Duvall a few hours ago and they dropped off grid." He took a deep breath. "About three hours before David was shot."

"_WHAT? Why the FUCK didn't you call it in, Doug?" _

Doug could hear the shrill fury in Diane's voice. There was no point in trying to explain or come up with any kind of excuse. The Guv was furious with him. She'd be even more angry if he tried to cover his arse. 'Come clean, Cross. That's the only honourable thing to do…' His fingers tightened around the phone. "I called it wrong, boss. I'm sorry."

"_Sorry? You're fuckin' SORRY? FUCK ME, Doug! We suspect there's a contract out on David, gang of mercenaries with connections to said suspect in that contract land in town, Ian's a sniper, they NEED a sniper, Ian disappears and bugger me if Sinclair don't catch a live one a few hours later and you're SORRY? Do you want me to join the __**fuckin' dots**__ here for you, you __**IDIOT**__?" _There was a sudden blast of a horn and Doug could hear Diane yelling at a passing motorist to _"GET THE __**FUCK**__ OUT OF MY WAY, YOU BLOODY COFFIN DODGER! FLASHY LIGHTS MEAN I'M IN A BLEEDIN' __**HURRY**__, YOU MUPPET!"_ Doug listened as Diane hurled verbal abuse at the unfortunate car driver impeding her path. Never get in front of the Guv in a hurry. She had a tendency to drive like a maniac, albeit a highly skilled, expert driver maniac…

"No Guv, I've already done that. I know."

_Yeah, fuckin' hindsight is a wonderful thing, Cross. Pity you didn't have the bloody foresight to do the right thing at the right bleedin' time, isn't it?" _Doug heard her sigh and there was a change in her voice when she next spoke. The fully-deserved bollocking was over. He'd pay the consequences later. Right now Diane had bigger fish to fry…_"Okay, listen. I'm on my way to County General. Micky, Danny and Eppe's team are at the FBI working with forensics. You find Ian. I don't care __**what it takes**__, Doug, you FIND him, do you UNDERSTAND?"_

"Yes ma'am!" Doug unconsciously snapped to attention in his seat. This wasn't his friend Diane talking to him. This was his commanding officer giving him an order. A very _pissed_ commanding officer who was in no mood for backchat.

"_Get him to the office. I want a full debriefing in two hours._"

"Yes, ma'am!"

There was a pause and when Diane finally spoke again the voice had changed once more. That steely, quiet determination had made an appearance. The one that scared the bejesus out of Doug more than any expletive-peppered bollocking could ever do. _"Look, I really hope we're all jumping to the wrong conclusion here, Doug, okay? But you know and I know this game isn't ever black and white. There's shades of grey too. I want Edgerton brought in immediately. I want explanations. But I swear to you, Doug, if he has anything to do with this and you let it happen because you bloody 'called it wrong', I promise you Cross, I PROMISE you, you are OUT. Permanently. Do you understand? Find him. Find him NOW." _The phone went dead.

Doug disconnected the call and put the phone down on the side carefully. He dropped his head onto his chest and closed his eyes for a second. A moment's indecision. One wrong call. The consequences had been horrendous. And this was his fault. He ran a hand over his face and relished the darkness against his eyes for a second. He breathed slowly, measuring every breath and fighting down the anger, the frustration, the bitterness, the shame and a whole tsunami of other emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He calmed his breathing down to a steady, slow rate and lifted up his head.

He opened his eyes. Time to make things right. The only person who could tell them the truth now was Ian. Doug had his orders. He sniffed sharply and stood up, scooping what he needed into his hands and exiting the van. He walked quickly towards a parked Charger some distance away and pulled his jacket on as he moved. He flipped on the phone and spoke quickly to Control. They'd need to arrange for someone to come and pick up the surveillance van. As soon as that was sorted, he snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. In the other hands he clutched a key fob. A quick press of the button and the Charger chirruped in response. He pulled open the driver door and slid quickly into the seat. The door slammed closed and Doug pushed the key into the ignition. He pulled out the smart-phone again and positioned it into the hand's-free cradle. Pressing a few buttons, he called up a street-map of LA on the screen. A small red dot flashed on the screen. It was stationary.

Doug smiled quietly to himself. It had been the one right call he'd made. He knew that there was a possibility that Ian would have to go mobile with Duvall and that they'd lose comms. So Doug had quietly slipped a tiny tracking device into Ian's pocket without the American noticing. The data was being downloaded onto a hard-drive link-up with the base surveillance team back at the office. They'd be able to track every move Ian made over the last few hours. If he'd been anywhere near the scene of the crime, they'd have the evidence. And now it made it easy for Doug to find his target.

He paused briefly and pulled out a Browning 9mm automatic pistol. Doug looked at the gun, preying and hoping that he wouldn't have to use it. But he'd made one wrong call already today. He wasn't about to take a chance and make a second. Doug slid the magazine out of the butt and tapped it on the grip. He did a visual check and quickly slide the magazine back into its home. He slid the bolt back and checked the safety was on. Full clip, one in the pipe. Once again, he offered up a brief prayer that he wouldn't have to use the one in the pipe bringing in a man he had considered until this moment to be a friend…

The engine snarled into life and Doug released the parking brake. The black Charger slid out into the LA traffic and Doug glanced at the dot on the screen. Time to score some brownie points back with the Guv…

333333333

Colby opened the door quietly and looked in. On the bed David lay silent and still, an IV drip hooked into one arm and surrounded by monitors. Colby's stomach tied itself into a tight knot and he shifted from one foot to the other nervously by the doorway, not wanting to disturb his friend's rest. But the truth was that he didn't want to face up to the consequences of his failure to protect David like he'd promised he would…

David's eyes slowly opened and he saw a blurry figure hovering anxiously in the doorway. As his vision cleared, Colby's concerned face came into view and he smiled broadly at his friend. "Hey, brother!" David's voice was cracked and quiet but there was obvious pleasure at seeing his best friend. He shifted and tried to sit up.

Colby quickly moved into the room and took up station at the side of David's bed. He carefully laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. David looked up at Colby, whose brow was knitted with concern. "Whoa, hey, don't even _think_ about it, David! Lay still." Colby sat down in the chair that stood next to the bed, his hand still resting on David's shoulder. "I just spoke to the doctor. He says your gonna be okay, bud. Clean through and through. Missed anything vital." Colby gave his friend a nervous grin.

"That's good to hear, bud." David's voice was quiet. He settled back onto the pillow with a small sigh. The effects of the morphine were making his words slow and slightly slurred, but at least there wasn't any pain right now. Or if there was, he didn't care about it anyway… He lifted up his hand and patted his friend's arm. "I'm okay, Col. Really. I am. Don't fuss, okay? The dude was a lousy shot."

Colby frowned. "Not that lousy, bud. It was damn close. And it shouldn't have happened, man."

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda, Col, ain't that what you always say, bud?"

"Hey, don't you go quotin' me back at…me…man, okay?" Colby's frown deepened. David could tell Colby was 'up in the air', as Diane once described it. It meant the normally placid man was struggling to keep his explosive temper under control and this time he was aiming its fury straight at himself. It also meant that his ability to speak in coherent sentences sometimes went out of the window.

David smiled broadly at his friend. "Look man, this wasn't your fault, okay? So stop beating yourself up here! We're good."

Colby looked deadly serious. "You're kidding me, right?"

"What, you got some kinda psychic ability, Granger? You got superpowers, all of a sudden?"

"What? No, I…"

"…I nothing, Granger. There's no way you could've stopped this from happening, bud. And hey, look, I'm _alive_, okay?" David's grip curled around his friend's arm. "So enough with the 'I'm sorry' shit, brother!" He grinned broadly at his friend. Damn, that morphine was good stuff! "You don't have anything to be sorry _for_, man. Now if I was lying in a _morgue_, that would be a whole 'nother matter!"

Colby frowned. "You son of a bitch, you're teasing me!" He growled angrily but David could see a twinkle in the green eyes.

"Of course I am, brother! It's the only way to get you to lighten the hell up!" David laughed quietly and then winced as the bullet wound pulled sharply. "Ow!"

"Okay, enough with the lightening up, dude. You're right. But it was way too close a call for my liking, bud. Seeing my best friend get shot…" Colby's voice trailed off. "It's happened too many times, man. I've lost a lot of people I care about over the years. And it don't get any easier. So…Hey, look. I'm just glad you're okay." Colby lapsed into silence for a few seconds and David's grip tightened once more.

"Colby, we're good, man. We're good. Just find the son of a bitch who did this, okay?"

"That's one promise I ain't gonna break, David." Colby gave his friend a half-hearted smile. "We're all in on this, bud. Ian's made contact with Duvall. I'm waiting to hear back from Doug and see what's gone on there. I got my boys at the office liasing with forensics and Don's called in everyone, and I _mean_ everyone." Colby paused briefly and a sudden, mischievous grin flashed across his face. "Hey. Can I have your desk, man?"

"What? NO!" David laughed and winced again. "OW! God damn it Granger!"

"Sorry bud. Ya know. Had ta ask…"

From the doorway, Don watched on and smiled warmly. There was a bond that couldn't be broken between David and Colby, no matter what they went through together. And it was that bond that would crack this case, despite the best efforts of whoever the hell was trying to stop them. He walked in to the room and stood behind Colby, the warm smile still on his lips.

"Hey Don!"

The smile split into a broad grin. "Hey, look who's awake! Waddya say, David?"

"Guess I won't be in to work today, boss. Sorry."

"Ah, don't worry, we can get along fine without you for a while."

"Thanks. That…yeah, thanks. I feel a whole lot better about things." David flashed a mock frown at Colby, who merely shrugged.

"What can I say, David? Your expendable, bud. Just like me!" Colby's grin reappeared.

"Yeah, okay so now _you're_ teasing _me_, right?" David's mock frown deepened.

Colby's grin vanished, and a serious caste filled his green eyes. "Yeah bud. Damn right I'm teasing, David. Damn right I'm teasing." He patted his friend gently on the shoulder. "You get some rest. And you do what the nurses tell you to do, okay?"

"Bud, you're the lousy patient, remember? Not me. Nope, I'm just gonna lay here and get waited on hand and foot, my man!" David chuckled quietly and snuggled back into the pillow. "Yes, sir! A little me time, I think. Yeah. That sounds good…" David's eyes drooped closed and his words trailed off as the morphine lulled him back towards a nice, comfortable blackness.

Colby watched his friend drift off into a drug-induced sleep. He glanced down at where David's hand still laid on his arm. He gently picked it up and carefully placed it on the bed, taking care not to make any sudden moves that might disturb his friend's slumber. Colby stood up and looked at Don, nodding towards the open door. The two men left the room quietly, letting David get the rest he needed.

Outside the door Colby stopped and spoke quietly. "Don, I'd like to put a guard on David."

Don nodded. "You think they might try again?"

"As soon as they find out David's still alive, hell yeah I think they'll try again. Don't you?"

"Get our team to take it in turns, Colby. I want people we know and trust on the job."

"I'll speak to the doctors, see if I can get a list of names of staff who'll be on duty. Make sure nobody tries slipping in disguised at a medic or anything."

Don nodded again in agreement. "Good thinking. Make sure you put janitorial staff on that list too, bud."

"Copy that."

Colby went to move towards the nurses station when the sound of rapid footsteps made him pause. Diane burst through the twin doors and walked quickly towards the two men. The expression on her face made Colby frown with brief concern. He'd seen that look on her face before. And it was never good…

"How is he?" Diane's London accent made the words clipped and sharp.

"He's okay. Clean through. But it was damn close." Colby turned back to join Diane and Don. Eppes noticed how the usual gentle affection the two agents normally showed towards each other was masked by a cold professionalism right now. This was no time to get all lovey or fall into each other's arms sobbing. That wasn't their way. This was a time for answers and action, not wailing and gnashing of teeth. Colby's brief 'he's okay' was enough detail for Diane. As soon as she knew that David was alive and safe, then they could get back to work. Don admired the almost ruthless efficiency of the ex soldiers, despite Colby's earlier descent into self-loathing. It also worried him sometimes. These specialists had spent their lives seeing and doing things that would give most people screaming nightmares. Their ability to detach themselves from their emotions when they needed to was sometimes frightening. Perhaps that's why when they _did _let the mask slip those pent up emotions were so explosive, so extreme. It would explain a lot about Colby, and about Diane…

Colby frowned briefly. "Something's up, babes. What is it?"

Diane laid a hand on Colby's arm and beckoned the two of them towards a quiet corner. Once she was sure they were out of earshot from anyone else, she spoke quietly. "We may have a bit of a problem, Col. With Ian…"

3333333333

Ian slammed the door of the apartment closed behind him. It had taken him months to get used to living in one place for more than a few days. His merge possessions could fit into one kit bag. Everything else was superfluous, meaningless. He still didn't like sleeping in a bed, preferring his trusty sleeping bag on the floor. Furniture was an inconvenience as far as he was concerned. His transient lifestyle had made it difficult for him to put down any roots, and this apartment was merely a tent with walls. A tent he could abandon at any time…

He tossed the car keys onto the bed and reached underneath, pulling his kitbag out from its hiding place. He started stuffing his possessions into the bag, rifling through drawers to make sure every piece of evidence of his time in the room was collected up. He yanked the drawstring closed and quickly knotted the top. Reaching onto the top of the wardrobe, he pulled down a rifle case and laid it on the bed next to the kitbag. One last glance around the room and he was sure he had everything. He turned back to the bed lifted up the kitbag, swinging it over one shoulder.

"Going somewhere, Ian?"

Ian spun around, his Glock already in his hand. But he was too slow.

In the doorway stood Doug, the Browning 9mm levelled straight at a spot between Ian's eyes. The Englishman had a dark, hard look in his eyes. Ian couldn't help noticing that the safety catch on the Browning was in the 'off' position…

"Doug, Jesus, you scared the life outta me! What's with the gun, man?"

"Drop the Glock, Ian."

"Doug…"

"I _said_, drop the damn _Glock_, Ian!"

Ian stood absolutely still and let the Glock swing back on his finger. Very slowly and carefully he lowered the gun down onto the bed and brought his empty hand back up. "Doug, c'mon, man, what the hell?"

"Turn around."

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"

"TURN AROUND!"

"Okay, okay! Easy!" Ian turned slowly, a puzzled frown on his face. "Shit man, how'd you catch up with me so fast?" He felt the Englishman roughly pull one of his hands behind his back and the cold chill of a steel bracelet clamp around his wrist.

"Tracking device, mate." Doug snapped the second cuff into place and put his Browning back in its holster. "Guv wants a word with you. And frankly? So do I. Move." Doug pushed Ian hard in the back towards the door and out towards the Charger…

33333333

"Babes, you're making one _hell _of an assumption here." Colby frowned deeply. The quiet side room the nurse had allowed them to use to talk in private was dark and black shadows filled the corners. Don sat on the corner of the desk, his arms crossed and a deep frown creasing his own brow as he listened to Diane's report of her conversation with Doug.

"Col's right, Dee. That's one hell of a leap…"

"Look, I'm not saying Ian _did_ pull the trigger, Eppes. But his timing? Man, it sucked. Going dark on Doug like that hours before David's shot? C'mon, Eppes. Don't tell me you wouldn't explore that avenue if you were in my position. If Ian's not involved then he has nothing to worry about and we'll all apologise to each other, shake hands and have a beer. But if he's been forced into it as some sort of a show of loyalty to Duvall, he may not have had a choice, Don. Perhaps that's why David's still alive." Diane's measured tone told Don that the intelligence officer still hadn't made her mind up for definite about the circumstantial evidence she had in front of her. But with David in hospital and a string of co-incidences linking a to b to c to d like one of Charlie's equations, she wasn't willing to take any chances trying to second guess herself right now. "I dunno. Perhaps we should be _thanking_ Ian. But until we talk to him direct, we won't know for sure."

"You got someone on it?"

"Doug's pulling him in now."

"Doug? After what he did?" Don sounded surprised.

"Don't worry. After the bollocking I gave him he won't be making any more fuck ups this week, believe me." Diane's words were sharp and clipped.

A sharp ringing made Diane stop and reach into a pocket. She pulled out her cell-phone and flipped it open. "Cross. You better have some good news, old son."

"_I have Ian. We're heading back to the office now."_

Diane didn't answer. She simply snapped the phone shut and looked at the two men. "Doug's bringing Ian in now."

Colby sniffed sharply and stood up. "Right. Maybe we'll get a few answers at last…"

_**TBC…**_


	7. Second Chances

Disclaimer:

Okie dokie, off we go again. Now this time class, I want you to pay attention because we're in flashback country, okay? Don't blame me if you get a headache reading this, I sure as hell got one _writing _it…

As always, I have no ownership over the regular Numb3rs crew, but the Brits and the story are all mine. Mine, I tells ya, MINE! I receive no financial benefits for writing this crap, only a deep sense of personal satisfaction and a dedication to keeping the N3verse alive in the form of fanfiction.

Usual warning applies for bad language and violence. Anything else and yer on yer own…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**333333333333333333333**

"I swear to you Colby. I _swear_ on my life I didn't pull that trigger!" Ian worried at the bracelets that were still locked around his wrists. "Now, c'mon boss, take the damn cuffs off, huh?"

Colby sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "Listen Ian. I got people out there who think two and two are makin' five right now, bud. I need you to tell me they're wrong. I need to make two and two make four again, Ian. I need to know what happened. _Exactly_ what happened. From the second you lost comms with Doug."

"You think I'd do that? You really think I'd shoot one of our own people down? Right in front of the building? Do you think I'm that goddamn _stupid_, Granger?"

"No. I don't think you're that stupid, Ian. But I _do_ know what undercover work is like. I know about having to think on your feet and doin' things you don't wanna do. Maybe… I dunno, maybe you had to prove yourself to Duvall and rather than take the kill shot I know you're capable of, you just wounded David? Just to keep your cover, huh? Is that how it was, Ian?"

"NO! Jesus, Granger, no! C'mon, man!"

"Well then for fuck's sake give me something I can work with here! Christ, Ian, I'm tryin' to save your goddamn ass here, okay? I'm tryin' to save _all_ our damn asses!" Colby's green eyes flashed furiously and he paced anxiously around the interrogation room. He stopped and turned, putting both hands flat on the table and staring intently at Ian. His voice dropped to a quiet, measured tone as he tried to reason not just with a very jittery Ian, but with himself as well. "Listen. You and me? We've both had second chances, man. Our friends, the guys out there? Our team? They've given us those second chances, Ian. They've all listened to some inner voice that told them things weren't what they seemed."

"Granger…"

"Shut the FUCK UP, Ian!" Colby's patience snapped for a second and he slammed a massive hand on the desk. He rounded on his friend furiously. "Shut up and _listen_, bud, okay? Now you look me in the eye, Ian. You _look _at me and tell me why in the _hell_ I should give you a third goddamn chance, man! _Tell me!_" He stared intently at Ian. "Tell me why I shouldn't listen to the guys who are all telling me that something's hinkey here. I _wanna believe you_, Ian, I really do. God damn it, we _all _wanna believe that you're not the trigger man! But you're making it hard for us, buddy. Real damn hard."

"Colby, do you think I shot David? Really?"

"Ian, you're a different kinda crazy, man. You said to me once that the reason you liked me was that I'm not afraid to mix it up. Well dude, you've mixed things up _real _good this time and it ain't looking good for ya…"

"Answer the goddamn question, Granger!" Ian's voice was shrill and angry, but Colby could hear a note of desperation behind the layers of defensive frustration. "_Do you think I shot David?"_

Colby stopped dead and stared down at the cuffed man. He could see Ian's eyes almost pleading with him to believe him, to trust him, to say that no, he _didn't _believe that Ian had done the unthinkable and gunned down one of their own people. Slowly, he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Ian, calming his breathing and folding his hands on the desk. All signs to Ian that he was ready to listen. Ready to hear what Ian had to say for himself. Ready to believe him… "You fooled me once, Ian. Remember? In the prison? Shame on me for letting you get the jump on me and Don and shame on you for taking that particular goddamn road, man. But dude, I ain't gonna let you fool me twice…"

"…And you know I was _right _that time, Col. You were smart enough to understand what I was trying to do _even_ if you didn't agree with the way I did it."

"You handcuffed me to a post and threatened to _shoot _me, man!"

"You honestly think I would have?"

"I think you were desperate, Ian. I think you didn't have a goddamn clue _what _you were gonna do. Just like now, bud."

"C'mon, Granger _seriously_…"

"…There's a line, Ian. A line we _don't cross_. A line that you and I have both sailed pretty damn close to on occasion. How close are you to the line _right now_, Ian?"

A thick silence blanketed the interrogation room. Ian's head dropped for a moment and then slowly rose back up. He stared straight into Colby's eyes and the shrill desperation in his voice changed to a quiet begging for his boss to listen to him, to believe him. "I didn't shoot David, Colby. I did _not_ shoot David."

Colby nodded silently and the hardness in his green eyes softened. He spoke quietly and calmly listening both to Ian's words and that inner voice inside his head that said, '_Give him that second chance, Granger. Give him that chance…' _ "Okay. So tell me how it was."

Ian waited, his stomach in knots. He knew what Colby had said was true. They had both been given the benefit of the doubt when things had looked bad before. But asking for it a second time was hard – he knew that he had to tell Colby _everything_ if he was going to stand any chance of staying out of jail this time… "Colby…"

Colby held up his hand and interrupted Ian. He'd made a decision. He would give Ian one chance and _one chance only_ to explain himself…"Tell me everything, Ian. _Everything_. From the beginning…"

3333333

_Six hours earlier…_

Ian stared at the photo of David Sinclair and his mind cartwheeled. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit!_ This wasn't the deal. He was supposed to get close to Duvall. Find out what the hell this bunch of crazies were doing in LA. Find out what their connection was with Stobbard and how they fitted into the whole goddamn mess. _Not to shoot a friend down in cold blood…_

"Is there a problem, mon ami?"

Ian glanced up from the photo and into the icy blue eyes of Duvall. The man was waiting for him to answer. Waiting for him to say 'no problem'. Waiting for him to prove himself…"No. No problem. Who is he?" Cover. He needed to cover…

"Who he is isn't important. You're a sniper, Monsieur Bankroft. Snipers do a job. They don't ask questions."

"Well, I don't know what kinda fuckin' amateur snipers you've been working with buddy, but I gotta know his movements, where he goes, what he does. How the hell else can I plan a clean hit without some background? That'll take time, man. You don't just go in shooting blind." Buy some time. Buy enough time to give David a warning...

The two men glanced up sharply as the door softly opened. A 9mm pistol was already in Duvall's hand as a figure slipped through the gap and into the room. As soon as Duvall saw the face he relaxed and flicked the safety catch back to 'on'. "Hunter. Next time, my friend? _Knock,_ tu comprends? I could've shot you. And that would be most unfortunate."

"Sorry, sir. Thought you might like to know that Stobbard called. Apparently he's got a personal engagement tomorrow night but he wants you to call him to finalise stage one."

"Bien. Merci, Paul, merci." Duvall nodded and put the gun down on the table. The business end of the 9mm was pointing straight at Ian… "Ian, this is Paul Hunter. My most trusted friend and comrade. Paul?" He beckoned towards Hunter who moved closer. "This is Ian Bankroft."

"I saw him at Joey's." Paul Hunter nodded briefly at Ian, his face unreadable. "You're our new sharp shooter, right?"

"Yep. So what's your role in this band of brothers then, Hunter?"

"And again with the questions, monsieur Bankroft!" Duvall frowned briefly. "You're a very _curious_ man, n'est pas? Very curious."

Hunter stared at Ian, his brown eyes hard and cold. "You don't ask questions, bud. You follow orders."

Ian stared hard at Hunter. "I like to know who I'm doin' business with, my friend."

Duvall interrupted sharply. "Monsieur Bankroft has his orders. He's taking care of a little _federal _problem for us."

Paul Hunter glanced at his boss. "What federal problem?"

"A certain Agent Sinclair." Duvall picked up the photo of David and showed it to Hunter. Hunter took the picture from his boss's fingers and studied it.

Ian watched the new guy carefully and frowned as he saw the faintest of micro-expressions flicker across the man's face. It was almost as if…as if Hunter _recognised _David! How? Why? Ian stored the information away, careful to keep his own face a picture of serene calm…

Hunter grunted and tossed the picture back onto the table. "One less fed on our asses has to be a bonus, right?" He flashed a brief grin at his boss. "Listen. I've been on the go for twenty four hours straight. I need some shut eye. With your permission sir…"

Duvall nodded and waved a hand. "Oui. We have much work ahead of us. Go. Get some sleep. I'll call you if I need you."

"Thank you sir." Hunter briefly snapped to attention and then rounded towards the door. As he did he glanced one last time at Ian, studying the new guy carefully, taking in every detail. Again, Ian saw that fleeting frown flicker across his face, gone in an instant but leaving an indelible impression on Ian that Hunter wasn't all he seemed to be…

3333333

"Back up." Colby held up a hand. "This Paul Hunter guy, you say you think he _recognised_ David's picture?"

Ian nodded and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There's something not right about him, Col. I dunno, I couldn't put my finger on it, but yeah, when he saw that photo he definitely reacted, man."

"Okay. So what happened next?"

3333333

_Five and a half hours earlier…_

Ian slammed the passenger door of the truck closed and held up a hand as Duvall drove off. He watched the truck disappear around a corner and started to walk back towards the main street. He didn't look back. He had an itch right between his shoulderblades – the kind of itch that tells you you're not alone…

He turned a corner and walked along the brightly lit street for a while, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His fingers closed around his cell phone. Should he make that call? The one to Colby? Telling him of his predicament? His fingers loosened and the phone dropped back to the bottom of his pocket.

No.

Too risky.

If he was being watched making a call right now would look highly suspicious. He still had that feeling that he had company. He was guessing that company wasn't friendly. And that it probably took the form of a certain loyal soldier called Paul Hunter…

Ian ducked into an alleyway and scanned it quickly. Plenty of hiding spots. Let's see if that itch _was _Hunter… Ian broke into a light-footed and fast run, disappearing into the shadows and vanishing in a darkened doorway. He flattened himself against the door and waited, keeping his breathing shallow and silent. Glancing towards the neon-bathed entrance to the alley he saw a figure briefly pause and glance down towards his hiding place. Ian pulled back and pressed his back against the crumbling paint of the door, praying that the narrow brick lined lintel under his fingers was enough to hide him from the prying eyes of his pursuer. The watcher was silhouetted against the neon lights of the street. Ian couldn't see a face, but the figure was definitely male, six two, maybe two hundred pounds. Exactly the same size as the tall, heavily muscled Hunter.

Ian looked straight ahead at the wall opposite and took a breath. It _was _Hunter. He knew it was. Why? Was Hunter suspicious of him? Had he been burned already? It was possible…Hunter was ex military and Ian Edgerton was a legend in the military for his prowess with a long range sniper rifle. Did Hunter know he wasn't who he said he was? Ian puffed out his cheeks and glanced back towards the entrance to the alleyway.

His pursuer had vanished…

3333333

_Six hours earlier…_

Paul Hunter shut the door quietly and walked quickly across the outer room. He scooped up his jacket and trotted down the echoing metal stairs. Their latest hideout was an old factory close to the docks. The place had been in Chapter 11 for months and abandoned machinery littered the factory floor like silent ghosts, throwing strange shadows across the dappled light of the floor. Hunter moved silently through the factory and out of the exit. Parked a few feet away were two black Chargers. He moved to the furthest one and pressed a key fob. The car briefly chirruped in response. He opened the driver door and climbed in, slamming the door shut and pushing the key into the ignition simultaneously. The engine roared into life and he gunned it out of the dusty lot towards the main road. As he drove, he pressed a speed-dial number on the phone that sat cradled in its hand's free holder. He heard a ringing tone over the speaker and waited anxiously for the recipient to pick up.

"C'mon, man, c'_mon_!"

"_Paul. What's wrong?" _The voice at the end of the line sounded concerned. "_You weren't supposed to contact me unless something serious came up…"_

"Yeah, well, something serious _has_ come up, Bill. Duvall's got himself a new sniper. He's given the son of a bitch orders to take out David Sinclair."

_"Who?"_

"Sinclair! God damn it, did you _not _read the file Washington sent us? David Sinclair. FBI. I thought we'd told the damn FBI to back the hell off?"

_"You know what the LA office is like, Paul. That's Don Eppes' turf. Even Washington just lets that damn team do their own thing. They're like a goddamn modern day Untouchables."_

"I don't give a fuck _what_ they do, as long as they back off this goddamn crap shoot, man!"

_"Okay, I'll talk to Eppes' boss, see if I can keep them at arm's length for a while. What are you gonna do about this sniper?"_

Paul swore briefly as he was cut up by an LAPD squad car pursuing a speeding Impala. "I dunno yet. I need to try and find out who this Bankroft guy really is. But we can't let him shoot a Fed down in cold blood, man. They might be a pain in the goddamn ass, but they're still on our side."

_"Is there any way we can warn Sinclair?"_

"That's your job. I got bigger fish to fry." Paul abruptly disconnected the phone and focused back on his driving. His route might have seemed strange, as after 10 minutes of driving he was back close to the abandoned factory. But he had to find out about this Bankroft. And stop him, _somehow_, from killing a federal agent…

Hunter let the truck roll quietly to a spot that gave him a clear view of the dirt-strewn parking lot in front of the factory. First things first. Find out who this 'Bankroft' was. Hunter parked up and switched off the engine, watching the parking lot and Duvall's lone Charger like a hawk. As he watched, he let his mind wander. There was something…_familiar_ about Bankroft. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. The fragment of a memory that no matter how much he tried, would not be forced into the front of his mind… Hunter frowned and settled back into the seat to wait.

Hunter had been a Marine. And a _damn good one,_ too. He'd seen his fair share of action in Afghanistan and had earned himself a fistful of medals and commendations. He was a brave man, loyal to his country and The Corps. He was also smart. Smart enough to know when something wasn't right. He had that 'instinct' that only a few people truly had. And he could spot another Marine a mile off. 'Bankroft' was definitely a Marine. But there was something else. Something that made his 'instinct' prickle.

During his tours, Hunter had heard the stories. Stories about an elite Black Ops group made up from the best of the best, who spent more time behind enemy lines than the damn enemy did. Marines, Rangers - the shadowy few who became almost legendary amongst the rank and file grunts. There were rumours that they'd worked with the craziest of the whole damn lot of them, the Brits. Those SAS nutters were just a whole different kind of batshit crazy. The kind of batshit crazy that took out primary Taliban targets with a clinical effectiveness and ruthless efficiency and made life a whole lot easier for the boys out on foot patrol the next day. Hunter knew that the Brits had tag-teamed up with the US Special Forces on more than one occasion. Teamed up with their own crazy bastards. Intelligence and tactical experts like Colby Granger. And snipers. Snipers like...Ian _Edgerton_…

Hunter's brow creased into a frown. Edgerton_._ He'd never met Granger _or_ Edgerton but he'd heard the stories from those who had. Edgerton was a damn legend in his own right. One of the finest snipers in the history of the Corps, nobody ever saw the guy in the field but they sure as hell saw the results of his expertise. That guy could take out an insurgent right between the eyes from over a mile away and melt back into the deserts of Afghanistan like a damn ghost. If 'Bankroft' was really Edgerton and the son of a bitch had gone rogue, then the Feds had themselves one hell of a big problem. Hunter knew that Edgerton didn't miss. _Ever_…

Slowly, a plan began to form in Hunter's mind. It was probably the craziest plan in the entire history of crazy-assed plans. It made no tactical sense. The repercussions could be deadly. But at least it would mean that the death of a federal agent wouldn't be on his conscience…

The tinny slam of the factory door snapped Hunter's attention back towards the Dodge. Two shadowy figures walked briskly across the dusty lot and climbed into the Charger. The tail lights winked on and the engine growled into life. Paul turned the key in his own truck, carefully avoiding putting his lights on before his quarry was already moving and giving away his position. Still running dark, he swung the truck out into the deserted road and followed at a safe distance behind Duvall and 'Bankroft'.

A few minutes later, Duvall's Charger disgorged one occupant and Hunter pulled up some way up the street to watch. The figure standing on the sidewalk raised a hand as Duvall drove off and began walking down the side street towards the main road. Hunter slipped silently out of the truck and began tailing 'Bankroft' from a safe distance. He was careful. Very careful. If this 'Bankroft' was actually Ian Edgerton then he was currently tailing one of the best trackers ever. The guy would be on him in an instant. Hunter pulled back, blending into the background and putting his own considerable abilities into action.

Suddenly, 'Bankroft' ducked into an alleyway and disappeared. Hunter cursed silently and casually walked up to the alleyway and paused, staring briefly into its gloomy, shadow-infested depths. 'Bankroft' had vanished.

Almost.

For a brief second, Paul Hunter's sharp eyes picked out the glint of a light on a watch face. It flashed like a lighthouse beacon in the dark alleyway. Hunter focused in on the spot and could just make out the tips of four fingers curled around the bricks of a doorway. Hunter smiled quietly to himself and casually walked away from the entrance and along the main road, passing the garishly lit neon signs of a late night liquor store and a neighbouring Kwik-E-Mart style shop.

He ducked into the store and busied himself with purchasing a box of Milk Duds he didn't want. He kept one eye on the shop window as he handed over a ten dollar bill to the storekeeper. A dark haired man walked by the outside of the shop and Hunter smiled to himself. He pushed the Milk Duds into his jacket pocket and waved a hand at the shopkeeper. "Keep the change, man. Stick it in the charity box or something." He ignored the shopkeeper's thank yous and exited the store, picking up 'Bankroft's' trail once more. This time he made sure he kept out of the 'sweet spot' where your mark has the best chance of picking up on the fact they're being tailed and kept his vigil a little closer to Ian…

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"Okay. So you're saying you didn't get a look at the guy's face, right?" Colby listened intently as Ian told him about his midnight stroll.

"No."

"But you think it was this Hunter guy who was in the room with Duvall?"

Ian nodded. "Certain."

"You think he made you?"

Again, Ian nodded. "Maybe not for a fed, but he definitely took a second look at me, yeah."

Colby sighed. "Okay. So what happened next?"

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_Five hours earlier…_

Paul Hunter watched Ian as the dark haired man shut the phone booth door behind him. He watched as Ian picked up the receiver, started to dial and then put the receiver back down again, appearing to wrestle with some kind of decision. Ian slammed his hand against the phone in a sudden fit of fury and flung open the booth door again, marching quickly back into the night.

Hunter pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and fell in behind Ian. The crazy plan started to nudge at his consciousness. If he was going to act, he had to act _right now_…

His hand went into his pocket and his fingers closed around a few lose items. Cable ties. Check. He could find something suitable for a gag. Improvise. That damn box of Milk Duds. Okay. What else? Spare clip. Check. Just in case things got silly. That's all he needed. Take Ian out of the equation for a while. Make it look like a simple mugging…

Hunter watched as Ian took yet another shortcut down an alleyway. His 'mark' was being careful. Suspicious. Hunter silently followed Ian into the alleyway, speeding up to a trot, his gun already in his hand. As the distance between the two men closed rapidly, Ian suddenly turned, a killer look in his eyes. He'd heard just the tiniest noise. The muffled sound of Milk Duds rattling in a box in somebody's pocket. It was enough to tell him he wasn't alo…

Hunter hit him at a flat run, the gun raised up above his head, his fingers curled around the snout of the barrel. He brought the butt of the gun handle down in a sideswipe against Ian's head and the man dropped to the floor, poleaxed…

Ian's vision blurred as he desperately tried to stop himself from succumbing to unconsciousness. Jesus, Hunter was fast on his feet! The cold, wet concrete against his cheek sharpened his senses for a split second and he coiled his muscles, ready to try and fight from the ground up.

But Hunter was on him. The man was an expert at hand to hand combat. He brought the butt of the gun down again on Ian's skull and blackness started to tunnel Ian's vision. The last thing that Ian saw was the blurred outline of the man's face looming over him…

Hunter flipped the semi-conscious Ian onto his stomach and zipped a cable tie around his wrists. He looked around at the doorways that lined the alleyway and noticed one that hung precariously on busted hinges. He hoisted 'Ian Bankroft' onto his shoulders and staggered as he adjusted his posture to carry the extra weight. Using his shoulder, he pushed open the creaking door and dumped his cargo a few feet into the abandoned building.

Ian grunted as he hit the dusty floor. He knew he was in trouble. He tried to focus on the sharp pain of the cable ties cutting into his wrists to stop complete unconsciousness leaving him at the mercy of Hunter. Ian felt Hunter's fingers grab a fistful of his hair and his head was jerked upwards. He stared straight up into the shadowy face of his opponent.

Hunter leaned forward and hissed at him. "I'm doin' you a favour, buddy. If you are who I think you are, _Ian_, you're way outta your depth, okay? You're a Marine. I might be that French bastard's bitch right now, but I'm a jarhead first. So I'm doin' you _one_ favour, man. As one Marine to another. Get out. Get out now. Go re-enlist, go work in Sierra Leone for all I goddamn care, but you _stay away _from Duvall. You understand? You show your face again and trust me buddy, I will _not _give you a second chance." He released his grip on Ian's hair and watched the man's head slump forward onto his chest. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the packet of Milk Duds and tossed them on the ground next to Ian with a snort. "Knew I shoulda bought me a quieter snack. Guess you heard me coming, huh, what with these things rattling like a fuckin' amo case? Guess you didn't count on me bein' that quick, either, did ya? More fool you, _Ian_. Like I said. You're outta your league, brother. _Way_ out. Go home. Forget about Duvall. I see you again? I'll _kill you_."

Before Ian could respond Hunter's gun took him on the side of the head a third time and he blacked out completely…

333333333

"If you don't believe me, take a look." Ian turned his head to the side and dropped his chin onto his chest. He reached up with his cuffed hands and pushed some of his hair to one side with his fingertips. Colby could see an ugly lump and the dried, crusted blood that clung to a deep gash in the side of Ian's scalp.

Colby sat back in his chair and stared at Ian. Ian brought his head up and looked directly into Colby's eyes. "I got two more lumps on the back of my head if you wanna check 'em out, bud. And a packet of Milk Duds in my pocket with his prints all over 'em."

Colby shook his head. "He said he was doing you a _favour_?"

"Yeah. Some favour, huh? Next thing I knew I was coming around as it was just getting light. Must've been about six, six thirty in the morning. I managed to cut the cable ties on a sharp piece of the door hinge. I made my way back to my apartment. That was when Doug caught up with me." Ian paused and seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He looked back up at Colby and held his hands out, the handcuffs still clamped around his wrists. "Well? Do you believe me?"

Colby stared at his friend for a few seconds. Then without another word, he stood up and moved around to Ian's side of the table. He put his left hand around Ian's wrist and with his right hand slotted a small key into the lock of the cuffs. The cuffs snapped open and dropped lose from Ian's wrists. Colby scooped the cuffs up and pushed them into his back pocket. Silently, he moved back to his chair and sat down again, focusing his penetrating stare back onto Ian.

Ian sat back in his chair, rubbing his wrists. "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

Ian let a small flicker of a smile cross his lips. "For giving me a third chance."

Colby leaned forward, his green eyes suddenly diamond hard and cold. "There won't be a _fourth _chance, Ian. Remember that…"

3333333

_Four and a half hours earlier…_

Paul Hunter left the unconscious body of Ian Bankroft/Edgerton tied up and gagged in the gloom of the abandoned building. He'd let his people know where to find him later. Maybe the guy had just stumbled into something by accident. In which case he'd thank Paul in years to come for his 'favour'. If the guy was smart, he'd stay well clear of Duvall and the whole thing. But that still left Hunter with a problem. If Duvall was to believe any kind of story about 'Bankroft' getting cold feet and backing out of the deal, he'd have to make it convincing. Duvall wanted 'Bankcroft' as a sniper. What's the worst thing that a sniper could do? The answer was obvious.

Miss.

If Sinclair was just wounded, it would keep him out of harm's way for the rest of the investigation, 'Bankroft' wouldn't get the chance to try and prove himself to Duvall and Sinclair would survive. That meant Hunter would have to take the shot himself. And make damn sure he missed. Duvall thought in straight lines. A sniper that missed was no sniper at all. He'd disregard 'Bankroft' as a waste of time, have to look for another sniper somewhere else and Hunter's cover would stay intact. It was a long shot, but it was all he had…

Hunter knew Sinclair would be arriving for work at some point that morning. All he had to do was get a good vantage point, wing the guy and then spend the next few days thinking on his damn feet. He'd been doing it for long enough, another layer in the tissue of lies and deceit wouldn't make much more of a difference.

He'd been in luck. The empty office block overlooking the Bureau offices gave him a clear line of sight to the main doors. All he had to do was wait until Sinclair showed up and pop a round into his shoulder. The general panic would allow him to get away quickly and vanish into LA.

Hunter settled himself at a window and waited, the .308 rifle resting on the ledge. He didn't have long to wait. He spotted Sinclair and quickly picked up the rifle. He didn't like shooting anyone in the back but hey, beggars can't be choosers… "Sorry, Sinclair. I really am. But it's better this way. Trust me." His finger curled around the trigger and he steadied his breathing, picking his moment.

Suddenly Sinclair turned and Hunter saw two men trotting towards his target. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit!_ Take the shot…Take the shot NOW!

He watched as Sinclair sank slowly to his knees and topple into the arms of one of the men who sprinted to his side. He didn't hang around to see what happened next. Scooping up the rifle and the discharged casing, he stuffed it into a holdall and ran quickly out of the empty office…

33333333

Don wanted to punch the walls. Watching the interrogation with Ian through the two-way mirror brought back too many bad memories of his interrogation of Colby over the Chinese affair. Okay, Ian _looked _like he was telling the truth. And Colby was giving him the benefit of the doubt. But they were still no closer to knowing who had shot David, who the hell Hunter was or how any of this connected to Stobbard.

"I know, Don. I know." Diane sat on the corner of a desk, her arms folded.

"Huh?"

"Colby told me. About that vein in your forehead that throbs when you're getting all bent out of shape." She chuckled quietly. "Don't worry, I'm feeling a tad confused too, mate. But we have to take what Ian's told us on trust. I'll get onto intelligence and see if we can find out who this Paul Hunter is."

Don stared at the two figures in the interrogation room and frowned. "What's your gut tellin' you, Dee?" He turned and looked at the Englishwoman. When it came to 'gut' feelings, he trusted her judgement as much as he trusted Colby's.

"Honestly?" Dee sighed. "It's telling me that we don't have the full picture here, Don. That there's something going on behind the scenes that we don't know about. And I think Hunter's the key."

Don nodded. "Yeah." He looked back into the room where Colby was standing up and indicating to Ian to stay put. He watched the younger man leave the room and waited for the door to open. A few seconds later Colby walked quietly into the observation room and the three agents watched the lonely figure of Ian together.

"He's telling the truth, Don." Colby spoke quietly without taking his eyes off Ian. "I'm sure of it." He looked at his boss, ready to plead Ian's case if necessary. "Tell me what argument to make, Don, and I'll make it. But I'm certain Ian_ didn't _pull that trigger."

Don straightened up and stretched his back muscles. It had been a long interrogation and he was stiff from standing. He turned and patted Colby on the shoulder. "You don't have to make any argument, Col. I trust your judgement."

Colby gave his boss a small smile. "Thanks, boss."

"There's one thing for certain. We sure as hell can't put Ian back in play now." Diane spoke with a matter of fact tone. "He's been well and truly burned."

Colby nodded. "Agreed." He smiled gently at Diane. "Guess it's down to you then, baby."

Don frowned briefly. "Huh?"

Diane sighed and rolled her eyes. "My diner date with Stobbard that I'm oh _so _looking forward to. That's the only in we've got left. We've burned our bridges with Duvall, but we're still going to have to keep a close watch on them, if necessary pull them in on bullshit charges if we have to. I'd rather keep them in play for the moment until we know more, but we should be ready to move fast if we have to. They're a primary threat and an unnecessary variable in this particular equation, Don. Something I'm sure your brother would say ithe same thing f he were here."

Don smiled at Diane. "Yeah. Life's full of goddamn variables, isn't it? Okay. Col, I think you need to finish debriefing Ian."

"So it's a debrief now, and not an interrogation?"

"Yep."

"Understood."

"Dee, I think we need to focus our efforts on Hunter. I got a feeling he knows who shot David, if he didn't do it himself."

Diane nodded. "Agreed. We might want to start with the Marine Corps and see if we can't get a match from the prints on that box of…what are they called?"

"Milk Duds. They're kinda tasty!" Colby grinned briefly.

Diane gave Colby a mocking frown. "Seriously, you need to get yourself tested for tapeworms, Granger, you're always thinking about bleedin' food! And no eating the evidence!"

"I wasn't gonna eat the damn box!"

Don frowned angrily at the two agents, not appreciating their moment of light hearted banter. "Guys, for God's sake will you quit..."

The door opened and Micky Cox poked his head into the room. "Guv? The big man upstairs wants to see you, Don and Col stat."

Don frowned at the Englishman. "The big guy upstairs?"

"Deputy Director Falling. He sounds pissed…"

33333333

"Eppes. Come in." Deputy Director Falling waved the three agents into the room. "Sit down, agents." He indicated to some chairs and the three agents sat waiting for 'the big man upstairs' to speak. In the corner of the room and staring out of the window was another suited man in his forties. Broad shoulders strained underneath his blue suit jacket and he ignored the presence of Don, Colby and Diane. A thick, awkward silence filled the room for a few seconds. Finally, Falling looked up at Don. His face was expressionless but Don could see that the 'big man' wasn't pleased. "Okay Don. Wanna tell me what the _hell _your team think they're playing at?"

"_Excuse me_?" Don's own scowl showed he was ready to come out fighting.

"Excuse you? _Excuse you_?" The man at the window turned abruptly and faced Don. He wore an expression of barely controlled fury. Don's hackles rose in response. "What your boss_ means_, Eppes, is what the _hell _do you people think you're doing, stamping all over an ATF investigation that we've had going on for _six goddamn months_?"

Colby looked at his boss. "Okay, who the hell is this guy?"

"This _guy_ is special agent Bill Chapman, Agent Granger. ATF. And special agent Paul Hunter's _goddamn handler_…"

Colby took a deep breath in and looked at Diane. As one they both said the same words. "Oh, _shit_…"

_**TBC…**_


	8. Twenty Percent

Disclaimer:

Okie dokie then, in an effort to keep the updates a little more frequent, we're off again and this time things go BANG! much excitement (at last!). But before that happens, there's a bit of spy shit to get through so pay attention, there may be a quiz at the end…

As always, I own nothing to do with Numb3rs and the regular characters, but like some kind of literary tom cat marking its territory, the Brits and the story are mine and I'll go all Ninja!Kitty (the nasty version of Hello Kitty) on anyone's arse who says otherwise.

Usual warnings for violence, bad language and more complicated twists and turns than a SatNav trying to work out the Wembley one way system.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**33333333333333333333333333**

"You dumb sons of bitches, do you have _any idea_…"

Deputy Director Falling held a hand up and scowled angrily at Bill Chapman. "Agent Chapman, I understand you're pissed right now but I will _not _have you calling some of the best operatives in the FBI and representatives of the international intelligence services _dumb sons of bitches_, do I make myself _clear_? The only person who has the right to call them that is me, and when _I _think they're dumb sons of bitches then _I _will tell them so, understood?"

Bill Chapman paused, his face a thundercloud of restrained fury and frustration. "Six months, Falling. _Six goddamn months_ we've had Paul in there and your man goes crashing in like some flat footed rookie…"

"Ian Edgerton? A flat-footed rookie? Man, I would _love _for you to say that to his face, buddy. He's downstairs in interrogation room two. You want I should go get him so you can tear into him in person?" Colby chuckled quietly but Don could hear the dangerous undertone to his voice. Don felt a little swell of camaraderie and pride in Colby's willingness to confront a superior ranking Agent and stand up for one of his own.

Chapman snarled a response. "Agent Granger, your defence of your team is admirable, but the fact is…"

"The _fact _is that you've been running an operation on our turf without letting our counter intelligence people know anything about it and now it's come and bitten you firmly on the ass, bud. Those are the _facts_, agent Chapman. If you'd have left all that inter-agency rivalry _bullshit_ back in Washington where it belongs, we wouldn't even be having this goddamn conversation!" Colby's earlier good-natured chuckle had been entirely forgotten and that dangerous edge to his voice was now apparent to everyone in the room, _including_ Chapman.

"It also demonstrates a considerable lack of the understanding of basic intelligence protocol on your part, Agent Chapman." Diane's quiet, measured tone caused the man to snap his attention onto the Englishwoman. He scowled furiously at her.

"What? What the hell is this limey bitch even doing in here? Who invited the goddamn Brits anyway?"

Colby's green eyes flashed furiously and he opened his mouth to rip into the irate ATF agent, but Diane touched his arm briefly and gave him a look that stopped him before he uttered a word. 'No. Let me handle this one...'

Diane refocused her attention back onto the furious Chapman and then glanced briefly at Falling. "With your permission, sir?" Falling smiled warmly. He'd had enough of this ATF guy coming in here and firing off insults at his people without even waiting to hear their side of the story. Sure, he wanted to know himself exactly what was going on, but he knew Eppes and his team didn't go into full-on spook mode without a damn good reason. Despite Don's dislike of counter intelligence operations, he had learned over the years that sometimes, the darker, more dangerous world of espionage was the only way to fight an enemy that played by those rules themselves. Set a thief to catch a thief. Set a spy to catch a spy. It was dirty. But it worked. And the FBI, the _new _FBI under Falling's directorship, liked results… Now Chapman had picked on Diane. This should be _fun.._ Falling sat back, ready to be entertained and waved a hand.

"Go ahead, Agent Armstrong. And Chapman? I suggest you listen very carefully, if I were you. And I hear one more insult come out of your mouth and I will not be responsible for my agents' actions, do I make myself clear? Dee, the floor is yours."

Chapman's mouth opened and closed in protest, like a gasping fish out of water. This is _not _the reception he had expected to get. He assumed that the Deputy Director would know what side his political bread was buttered. He assumed that the usual string pulling and manoeuvring would have forced the FBI to back off and the glory of bringing Duvall, Stobbard and the whole nasty little circus to justice would be the ATF's alone. He assumed that he wouldn't have to share that glory with the damn Feds because he had _assumed _that Deputy Director Falling was old-school FBI and understood how the game was played.

That's the trouble with assuming too much. Sometimes you get it very, _very _wrong.

Falling _wasn't _old-school FBI. He didn't give a crap about the politics. He knew that Don Eppes's team had been nicknamed 'The Untouchables' by the other agencies – a nickname that the other agencies hated and one he took a huge amount of pride in. He _liked _the fact that he had the best damn team of mavericks in the Bureau. Because those mavericks got _results_. Falling was a rare man in the upper echelons of the security services. He was a man of honour and integrity with an _absolute _belief in justice. He was also smart. And no hooting, hollering ATF agent throwing a hissy fit was going to make him feel any less inclined towards backing his team to the absolute _hilt_…

"You say you've been working Duvall for six months, am I right?" Diane directed the question towards Chapman.

Chapman looked utterly bewildered for a second and glanced at Falling. Falling stared hard at the man. "Answer the limey bitch's question, Chapman." He threw a look towards Diane, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He gave her a surreptitious wink and Diane let a genuine smile of mirth flicker across her lips. She liked Falling. He was almost British in his approach. She knew the 'limey bitch' comment was a direct dig at Chapman, not at her. It was the kind of sideways humour the Brits understood perfectly, but often remained a mystery to the Americans. It was also a coded message. 'Chapman's expecting a limey bitch. So let's not disappoint him, shall we? Give him the full stiff upper lip, British army officer act…' Diane knew exactly how to play this one and she also knew instinctively that both Don and Colby had picked up on the message too. She could tell because they'd both relaxed back into their seats and were sitting, arms crossed and enigmatic little smiles on their lips, waiting to be entertained. The coliseum was ready…

"Six months is a long time to have someone undercover, Agent Chapman. But if we're playing Top Trumps here, which is exactly what I presume you're doing, then I'm awfully sorry, old chap, but us Brits beat your six months with two years." She threw the 'awfully sorry, old chap' in for good measure. Falling could barely contain the shout of laughter that threatened to burst out, and both Colby and Don had to look away, hiding their own smirks of amusement. Don couldn't help himself. He loved watching Diane mess with someone's head like this. He knew what was coming next. It wasn't going to be pretty…

Chapman looked as confused as ever. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Diane went in for the kill. The 'dreadfully polite' English reserve vanished like morning mist and her voice changed into steely, ice-cold professionalism. "Six has been working on Stobbard for two years, Agent Chapman. We have been gathering intelligence on his _entire _operation across the globe. We currently have seven agents in place throughout his organisation across Europe, the Middle East and the former Soviet Union. Agents that have been supplying us with a continuous stream of classified intelligence that is going to enable us not just to shut Stobbard down, but take out a whole royal flush of dodgy bastards who are currently supplying the world's terrorist organisations with ordnance. Intelligence that we have _openly shared _with your people in Washington. The fact that you are unaware of our involvement and our own, well-documented operations that have been _agreed with and shared fully_ between Six and your lot shows that you are either incredibly remiss in reading priority reports that come across your desk _or…_you are being kept out of the loop for some reason. So. Which is it, Agent Chapman? Are you inept? Or are you just not a big enough fish in this particular pond to actually know what's really going on?"

Chapman was stunned. He'd expected mumbled apologies from the FBI and a promise to back the hell off from his operation. He hadn't expected to be made to look a complete fool by some red headed bitch with an English accent! He opened his mouth to speak. But Diane wasn't finished with him yet…

"The result of your reluctance to join in with the whole 'information sharing' principle that has been adopted by almost every other agency on both sides of the Atlantic," Diane put a sarcastic set of air apostrophes around the words 'information sharing', "was that your undercover operative, for whom I feel rather sorry, what with having to put up with such a half-baked handler like you watching his back, has endangered the life of not one but _two _FBI agents. Agents who happen to be rather good friends of mine, and therefore, speaking in my official capacity as MI6 liaison officer with the FBI, they are also friends of her Majesty's government. So kudos, Agent Chapman. You haven't just pissed me off. You've managed to piss a _whole damn country_ off!"

Chapman almost physically recoiled under the verbal battering. Diane let a brief, reassuring smile flicker across her lips. "How_ever_." She paused.

Chapman leaned forward slightly. "However? However _what_?"

Diane kept a sphinx-like serene little smile on her lips. "_However_, her Majesty's government is willing to be magnanimous in this matter and continue to work with our friends and colleagues in the American security services and assist in the apprehension of Claude Duvall by sharing with both the FBI _and _the ATF everything we have on his operation. We ask only one thing in return. You give us Stobbard."

"What is this? Some kinda Dutch freakin' _auction_, you crazy…"

"_Agent Chapman_," Diane's interruption was sharp and absolute. "Before you fire off yet another insult and risk an international incident between two friendly nations, I would say to you that our request is perfectly reasonable _and_, as the person in question is a British National and _not _a resident of the United States _AND _this shit-load of paperwork here says we've got every right to take the bastard back to Blighty, _you'll do as I damn well say_." Diane held a file of papers aloft and Chapman fixated on them.

Watching the performance, Colby was fighting every instinct to stop himself from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Dee was giving him the old 'official paperwork' bluff. And the dumb bastard was swallowing it! It was straight out of Interrogation for Dummies. Make the prisoner think you know more than you actually do or, in this case, that you have more authority than you really do. Colby knew full well that there was no extradition order in that file. It was actually a Ballistics report on David's shooting. But Chapman didn't know that…

Chapman looked in desperation at Deputy Director Falling. "God _damn it,_ Falling! Are you just gonna sit there and let this damn Brit _threaten _me?"

Falling sat back lazily in his chair. "Actually? Yes I am, Chapman. She's Station Chief for MI6's LA Liaison office. She outranks you. Hell, buddy, she outranks _me_!"

Diane wanted to hug Falling. The guy was smart enough to realise what she was doing and was playing along perfectly. She didn't outrank Falling. Hell, she didn't outrank _any _of the Americans in the room. But again, Chapman didn't know that…

"Listen. Right now, the only person who is in immediate danger is your man, Chapman. Hunter's as exposed as hell, and putting all our little petty differences to one side for a moment, I for one do not want to see him end up as a chew toy if Duvall finds out he's a ringer. So instead of getting all puffed up and unnecessary, let's see what we can _all _do to sort this rather sorry situation out to everyone's advantage, what?"

Colby couldn't stop himself this time. A short, snorted laugh escaped out of his mouth and he quickly threw Don and Falling an apologetic look. He knew Dee had tacked on the stereotypically British 'what?' at the end to keep Chapman off balance.

Chapman knew he was beaten. He'd started this meeting full of self-righteous indignity and ended up being made a mockery of by some goddamn, stuck-up British intelligence officer who was straight out of a friggin' John le Carré novel. He hated her right now. But he also knew that she was right…"Okay. Okay! So waddya suggest, lady?" He scowled furiously at the woman.

"I suggest we put Ian back in play."

"_What_? Are you _crazy_, Dee?" Don sat bolt upright.

"C'mon, Dee, you said _yourself_ he'd been well and truly burned…" Colby was as confused as his boss and spoke at the same time as Don.

Dee held a hand up against the chorus of disapproval. "Hear me out, lads. Knowing what we know now, we don't really have a choice. If we _don't _put Ian back into play, Hunter's got a much tougher job to stay on the inside. How quickly can you contact Paul, Agent Chapman?"

"Well, how 'bout right now…" Chapman pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and frowned at Diane. "Where the hell you going with this, lady?"

"Get him up to speed. Tell him Ian's one of our people and _not, _as he thought, a potential threat to David. Brief him to say _nothing_ to Duvall. We'll handle the reintroduction. The cover will be that David has died from his injury and that Ian was successful. That gets both our people off the hook and Ian back in play and able to work _with _Hunter and not against him. Sir?" Diane turned to Falling. "Do you think you could organise a press conference saying how deeply distraught you are at the death of a fine FBI agent, gunned down in cold blood on the very steps of justice, blah, blah, blah?"

"Give me an hour."

"Thank you, sir. Appreciated. Don, we need to get David moved to a secure location where there's no chance of Duvall finding out he's still alive."

"Not a problem." Don turned briefly to Falling. "Sir, I need to brief you and Agent Chapman on new information we've gotten from Ian."

Falling nodded. "Back here in ten minutes."

Diane exchanged a quick nod of agreement with Don and then turned to Colby. "Colby, bring Ian up to speed on Hunter."

Colby grinned broadly. He knew _exactly _what hand Diane was playing now and it might just work…"Copy that."

Diane refocused on Chapman and stared intently at him for a few seconds. "Well? Why aren't you dialling yet?"

Chapman gulped awkwardly and hit a speed-dial number. He pressed the phone to his ear and turned his back on the FBI agents, his mind churning over. He'd been involved with undercover work for years. But he'd never, _ever _come up against this kind of goddamn sideways thinking before. These bastards were crazy…

Once Chapman was engrossed in his conversation, Falling turned his attention to the three agents in front of him. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "God _damn _it, people, this better work! If it doesn't, do you have any idea of the crap I'm gonna catch from Washington?" He leaned back. "Now get the hell out of my damn office before I change my mind! Go! G'on, scoot!"

Don, Colby and Diane grinned their thanks and quickly left the room. It was nice to know they had friends in high places at last…

3333333

The lift doors pinged shut and the elevator jolted into action. Don turned around and faced Diane. "Dee, next time you pull something like that, you might wanna give us a head's up first, okay?"

Diane smiled apologetically. "Sorry Don, but it was the only way I could see of trying to salvage the operation. I've got an appointment with Stobbard this evening and if this whole damn mess had imploded on us we would've thrown away our one chance to keep a two-year operation in play. I had no choice. Why the hell _we _weren't told that the ATF were already in on the ground I don't know. So I had to bluff it. Ya know. Turn it around so Chapman thought the fault was his end, not ours. It was the only way to get someone like him to co-operate with us. So I pulled rank. Sorry 'bout that."

Colby was leaning back against the side of the elevator and grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Gotta love the whole, 'I say, awfully sorry, old chap' bit though, babes. I damn near peed my pants laughing when you did that!"

"Granger…" Don tried to reprimand the younger man, but couldn't. His face split into a wide grin. "Actually, I gotta agree there, Dee. Seriously. What the hell?"

Diane shrugged. "He called me a limey bitch. So? I went all limey bitch on his arse. Who am I to disappoint a man's misconceptions of me?" She gave the two men a mocking, wide-eyed innocent look and they both burst into gales of laughter. Diane looked indignantly at Colby, unable to stop a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "_What_?"

The lift doors pinged open and the three agents walked out into the Bullpen, still chuckling to themselves. Micky Cox glanced up and saw the looks on their faces and nudged Danny Smith in the ribs. The man grunted. "What?"

"Looks like it went well with the Deputy Director, Smithy."

Danny Smith watched the three senior agents and nodded, grinning. "We're back on, then, mate." Micky stood up as Diane approached him. "What's the story, guv?"

"We're back in play, lads." She momentarily glanced over at Colby, who had peeled off and was heading back towards interrogation room two to debrief Ian. He winked at her and disappeared into the room. Diane turned back towards her British colleagues and leaned against the perspex partition. "Right boys, we've got work to do…"

333333333

Colby closed the door quietly and perched on the edge of the table. He laid a hand on Ian's shoulder and the dark haired man looked up at him. Colby gave him a reassuring smile. "Dude, I owe you an apology big time."

"Col, I'd've done the same thing, bud."

"So…are we good here?"

Ian gave Colby a brief grin. "You're not gonna handcuff me again, are you?"

"What? No!"

"Then we're good." Ian laughed and stood up. "Okay. So what the hell's going on, Col?"

"C'mon man, I'll get you a coffee and we'll take this to the war room." He patted Ian on the shoulder and pushed himself off the edge of the desk. Ian knew that meant he was no longer under suspicion and back on the team. He didn't know what the hell had happened in the time Colby had left him alone in that room, but whatever it was it had exonerated him. Ian followed Colby out of the interrogation room and back into the familiar environment of the Bullpen...

33333333

"So I'm officially 'dead' then, huh?" David grunted and struggled to sit up into a more comfortable position. Don waited until the wounded man had settled and nodded.

"It's the only way to keep the ball in play, buddy. We're moving you to a safe location as soon as the doctors say it's okay. In the meantime we're putting in a lockdown on your room. Nobody comes in or out without our say so. The hospital's been instructed to give a 'no comment' reply to any press inquiries and we're doing the whole 'it's an ongoing investigation' thing too. We should be able to keep you out of the limelight for a good few days. That'll give Colby and his team time to get back undercover without putting Hunter at risk."

"So, wait up. Are you telling me that this ATF guy shot me to _protect _me because he thought Ian was a genuine sniper who was gonna try and _kill _me?"

Don laughed and nodded. "Yeah. I think the Brits call that irony, bud."

David scowled angrily. "Yeah? Well tell Dee that I don't approve of goddamn _irony_, man! It freakin' hurts!" He touched the wound on his chest gingerly and winced. The frown melted away and a look of genuine concern filled his eyes. "Don, are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean, this is one hell of a dangerous game Col and Dee are playing."

"I know, bud. And there's about a million ways it can go wrong. But Dee's right. This has been an international operation spanning across god knows how many agencies for more than two years. It's just dumb luck that everything's kinda ended up in our laps. Like Dee said. If the ATF had been more willing to let us know they were on operations already with Duvall, we may have handled things differently at the beginning. I dunno. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, as Colby says. Guess it's a bit late for that now."

"So what's the plan now?"

"Nothing that you need to worry about, David…"

"Whoa, wait up, Don. You've just sat there and bitched about how the ATF shoulda shared intel with us and now you're keeping one of your own _team _in the dark?"

Don looked apologetically at David. "Yeah, sorry bud. That was kinda hypocritical of me. Okay. Hunter's been briefed by Chapman. He doesn't like it, but he's running with it. Ian's going back in. We're hoping that'll take the pressure off Hunter as well as proving to Duvall that Ian's the real deal. Dee's meeting with Stobbard tonight. Col's going in as Jack Higgins. That way we have two agents in on Duvall and two in on Stobbard. Danny, Micky and our guys are gonna work the back office and keep the damn ATF and MI6 in line. Doug's running eyes and ears. We don't want any more agents muddying the waters."

"I think there's about four too many already, Don!"

"Look, I know it's usual for just one undercover to go in, but I dunno, man, this might just work. It also shows how vulnerable Stobbard _and _Duvall are if they don't even realise they've got agents crawling all over them. It means we've got a greater chance of them making a mistake and giving us the evidence we need to nail whoever's behind this."

"What exactly _is _'this', Don?"

Don shook his head. "That's the million dollar question, bud."

David nodded in agreement. "Yeah. But for this much heat, it's _gotta _be something pretty damn big…"

33333333

The restaurant was elegant sophistication of the twenty percent tip kind. Only the rich and famous could get a seat at Wilshires. Stobbard wasn't famous. But he _was_ rich. And he loved surrounding himself in the trappings of wealth like an extremely expensive comfort blanket. It kept the dark, memories of an impoverished childhood in North London at bay…

"Mister Stobbard? You guests have arrived." The waiter spoke quietly into his ear and nodded towards the doorway. Stobbard took a breath in. Damn, she was _stunning_! A chocolate brown silk evening dress draped perfectly from one shoulder and cascaded down the woman's body like a waterfall. She stood statuesque and elegant, her slim neck accented by a beautiful diamond necklace and stud earrings. In her hand was a Gucci clutchbag and the short auburn hair had been styled into a soft 'pixie' cut that showed off the woman's high cheekbones perfectly… He snapped back his attention to the waiter and frowned.

"I'm sorry…_guests_? As in more than one?" He looked back towards 'Alex' and then noticed a man standing next to her talking quietly. She was obviously listening intently and Stobbard saw her nod a couple of times. Underneath a beautifully tailored suit he could clearly see that the man was built like a brick shithouse. Short, dirty-blonde hair framed a good natured face with piercing pale green eyes. The man seemed to laugh easily but Stobbard was good at reading people. This good looking, seemingly easy going man moved with a grace and lightness that he'd only ever seen amongst some seriously highly trained bodyguards with shady military backgrounds. Whoever he was, the guy was a pro…Stobbard frowned as realisation kicked in. He recognised the picture from the file he'd managed to obtain. The big man was Jack Higgins…

The couple moved towards Stobbard's table and he stood up, a smile fixed on his lips. "Alex. I…um, I didn't realise you would be bringing company."

Dee gave Stobbard a charming smile and turned into 'Alex' in an instant. "My sincere apologies, Mister Stobbard. I should have informed you. But we're only in LA for a few days and unfortunately, business has to come first. This is my business partner, Jack Higgins. Jack, this is Richard Stobbard."

Colby held a hand out and smiled warmly at Stobbard. "Delighted to meet you, bud. Alex has told me all about you. And I trust her instincts. She's never steered me wrong on a deal yet."

Stobbard was utterly confused. "Deal? I'm sorry…_what_?" He absentmindedly shook 'Jack's' hand, painfully aware that the other diners were beginning to glance towards them with questioning looks. "Look, um, shall we sit?" The waiters had silently and unobtrusively added another chair and place setting to the table. 'Alex' and 'Jack' graciously accepted Stobbard's invitation and sat down.

Colby grinned broadly as the waiter handed them a menu. "Great. I'm starving!" He glanced up at Stobbard and the Englishman got his first chance to look at 'Jack' properly. There was a cunning, intelligent look in the big man's green eyes. But as Stobbard studied 'Jack', Colby studied Stobbard. He smiled lazily. "As Alex said, apologies for bustin' in on your date, buddy, but you really weren't gonna get anywhere with the ice maiden here anyway. So no harm, no foul."

"_Ice maiden_?" Diane threw a sharp glance at Colby. "You cheeky bastard…"

"I genuinely have no idea what you mean, mister Higgins."

"Call me Jack. Please." Colby shut the menu and handed it to the hovering waiter. "I'll have the steak. Rare. Alex?"

"Sea bass."

"And for you, sir?" The waiter seemed to glide around the table and paused next to Stobbard. Stobbard was still staring coldly at 'Jack'. "Sir?"

"Huh?"

"Your _order_, sir?" The waiter pursed his lips snootily at Stobbard.

"Oh, right. Yes. Um, sea bass. I'll have the sea bass as well."

"An excellent choice. Thank you sir." The waiter whipped the menu out of Stobbards fingers and vanished off towards the kitchens.

Stobbard's brain finally kicked in and he sat back, a small smile spreading over his lips. "So. What makes you so sure I wouldn't have been successful in charming this beautiful lady into my bed, Jack?"

Colby grinned broadly. "Because I've already charmed her into _mine_, bud. And she knows who pays her wages."

"_She _is sitting _right here_, pal!" 'Alex' scowled briefly at Colby. But behind the scowl Stobbard could see genuine affection between the two of them. "Besides. Who's to say I haven't got bored with you by now? Hmm?" 'Alex' raised a mocking eyebrow at Colby and he laughed in response.

"See? Seriously, man, would you want anything to do with a firecracker like this? She's goddamn uncontrollable, I tell ya." The lighthearted tone suddenly vanished from Colby's voice. "But ya know what? She knows the arms trade better than any woman I've ever met. That's why we're in business together, Mister Stobbard. I'm not just sleeping with my secretary, buddy. I'm fucking my partner. That way she doesn't get to fuck _me_ over, know what I mean?" He chuckled quietly and kissed 'Alex' on the cheek. "She knows I love her, don't you baby?"

"Don't push it, mate!" 'Alex' flashed a mocking grin at her partner and Colby laughed loudly.

"See what I mean? Anyway, enough with the prancing around, man. Here's the thing. I'm pretty sure you've done your homework and you _know _I've done mine. You've been scootin' around for the past few weeks callin' in a lot of favours and building up one serious portfolio of customers. But ya see, LA's _my _turf, Mister Stobbard. Deals of the size you're puttin' together don't happen without my say so around here. But lucky for you, I'm in the market to invest. So. Convince me it's a deal worth comin' in on and I might _not _have a couple of my people run your ass outta town for trying to move in on my territory, Richard." Colby smiled coldly. "So. What ya got?"

Stobbard was taken aback. This wasn't how he did deals. He'd done a bit of background research and found out that 'Jack Higgins' was what he said he was. He was no lightweight arms dealer. He'd dealt with Damien Lake. Anyone who'd dealt with Lake and was still alive had to be good. LA wasn't Stobbard's usual business centre. He'd dealt mainly in Europe and the Middle East. So it was understandable that he'd never come across 'Jack Higgins' before now. He was beginning to wish he'd never taken on the commission Howard had given him, but it was far too late to back out now. Stobbard needed a full quota of customers with enough investment money to secure one of the biggest arms deals of the decade. LA was ground zero for the deal. And 'Howard' was not a patient man…

Curiosity got the better of him. He decided to play along with whatever game these two were up to… His body language changed in an instant from off balance and confused to relaxed and confident. The change wasn't missed by 'Jack' or 'Alex'. He smiled disarmingly as another waiter poured out a tiny amount of wine into a glass. He picked it up and swirled it around in the glass, sniffing at the bouquet like a true wine connoisseur. He took a sip and swished it around in his mouth and then nodded. "Excellent." The wine waiter nodded and proceeded to pour out three full glasses of the expensive wine. Stobbard picked up his glass and held it up in a toast. "Your good health."

"And yours." Colby responded with a smile and a salute of his own. The two men drank and Diane took a sip of her own wine and then placed the glass down on the table, fading carefully into the background and letting Colby take the lead…

"Well, Mr Higgins…"

"Seriously, man. Call me Jack. If you're bullshitting me then you can always go back to calling me Mister Higgins later on when you're begging for mercy, okay?" Colby grinned broadly, but there was steel behind the lighthearted banter.

Stobbard chuckled. "I forgot. You Americans are very…_forthright_…in the way you deal, aren't you?"

"If you mean we don't waste time dicking about, then yeah, we're pretty forthright, buddy."

"Well then, at the risk of being accused of 'dicking about', as you put it, yes. You're right. I am putting together a portfolio of investors."

"Okay. And?"

"And I have more than enough interested parties right now, Jack. Why should I be interested in one more?"

Colby's smile faded. "Were you _not_ listening just now?"

"Oh, I was listening, Jack, but I wasn't hearing anything that convinced me to do business with you. I'll be honest with you and, Alex, please excuse my forthrightness, but I arranged this diner date with Alex, not you. Coming in like some gun slinging Texan oil baron saying I need your _permission _to deal in LA and helping yourself to a steak in one of the most expensive restaurants in LA on _my _credit card has done nothing to endear you to me, my friend."

Colby's eyes hardened. "Really." It wasn't a question…

"Yes, _Jack_, really."

Colby's eyes didn't leave Stobbard. "Hmm." He sat back in his chair. "Alex? Would you like to explain how we do business in this town to our friend here?"

Diane took a sip of wine and dabbed delicately at her lips with the corner of a napkin. She smiled sweetly at Stobbard. It was the same kind of smile a tiger would give a tethered goat…

"I suggest you look around you, Mister Stobbard. See that gentleman sitting at the bar?" Stobbard looked towards the bar where Danny Smith sat casually sipping a glass of wine. He locked eyes with Stobbard, his piercing blue orbs boring straight into Stobbard's own. He heard 'Alex's' voice again. "And his friend over there, to the left?" Stobbard's gaze swivelled around to the left and Micky Cox smiled coldly at him, an obvious bulge under the armpit of his jacket indicating the man was carrying a handgun. He looked like he'd had plenty of practice using one for real…

"Those gentlemen can either make sure you make it back to your hotel without any problems, _or_ that you don't make it back at all. It's your call. But rest assured, mister Stobbard, we are completely serious when we say that _nobody_ and I _mean nobody_ does business in this town without our say so. Now we are reasonable people, and while I realise you may be used to doing business the European way, over here we do things a little differently." Diane studied Stobbard carefully. This was the second 'bluff' she'd run today. Chapman hadn't called her. But Stobbard just might…

Colby leaned forward and snarled quietly at Stobbard. The look in his eyes was almost feral. Stobbard had seen the same sort of look in Duvall's eyes more than once. He knew he was playing with some very dangerous people – people whom it wasn't wise to piss off. "I also know for a fact that you _haven't _got enough investors, bud. I believe you've just had a deal fall through with a certain Francis Gettisman, right? And putting two and two together here, I figure you wouldn't even be talkin' to me if you didn't need a replacement. So here's the thing. I can make things go very smoothly for you. Either way. Good or bad. If they go bad, nobody'll ever find your body. If they go _good_, we could all make a lot of money. So. I'll ask you one more time. What's the deal?"

Stobbard felt trapped in a particularly elegant, guilded cage. All around him the well to do of LA enjoyed the finest in luxury dining, completely unaware that in the middle of this serene setting a very dangerous game was being played out…

Stobbard folded.

"It'll cost you fifty million to come in."

"Is that all?" Colby chuckled. "And there's me thinking it was a big deal…"

Stobbard sneered. "The deal's worth a hundred times that, _bud_. You'd be just one of several investors. What's the matter, _Jack_? Too rich for your blood?"

"Chump change, buddy. What does fifty mill buy me?"

"A little piece of history, my friend." Stobbard smiled. "The deal gives you a twenty percent return on your investment within one week."

"How?"

"Ever played the commodities markets, Jack?"

"Guns, buddy. I buy and sell guns."

"Well, perhaps you should expand your horizons a little. You see, your fifty million will help a certain rebel force in the Middle East overthrow a repressive regime that has been suffocating their country for over forty years. Once our operation is in place and all the investment is in, a group of dealers from the country in question will be flying out to LA under the disguise of a trade delegation to secure a massive shipment of arms from a… shall we say…_supportive_ third party. This shipment is being paid for by your investment, Jack. Forty eight hours after the deal goes through, the regime will be brought down by the rebel forces and, eternally grateful for helping them liberate their country, they will then ensure that all future oil reserves are signed over to my clients for what they _believe _to be an inflated amount three days later. You get your fifty million back, plus a nice dividend and a warm, fuzzy feeling in the knowledge that you've helped towards bringing democracy to a poor, impoverished nation. My clients make a rather nice profit _and _a nice little long-term nest egg and me? Well, I get a nice finder's fee and first dibs on any future deals in the country in question."

Colby sat back. "So you're telling me we're financing a _coup_?"

"Hey, it was all the rage back in the sixties and seventies, so why the hell not now?" Stobbard laughed. "What, you think it doesn't go on any more? Come on, you're an ex-mercenary yourself, Jack and _yes_, I _have _done my homework on you so don't deny it. Actually, I believe the security forces of a certain central African country would still like to speak to you about a rather messy little spat a few years ago, am I right? So don't tell me you've grown a conscience since then, because I won't believe you." Stobbard took another sip of the wine and smiled nastily. "So. Are you in? Or out? Oh, and before you start doing the whole 'you'll never get out of here alive' shit again, _mister _Higgins, I should warn you that the people I work for have some much bigger guard dogs than you do." He nodded sharply towards Micky and Danny. _"Much_ bigger."

Colby smiled. "Nobody has ever accused me of sprouting a conscience, _mister _Stobbard. And a twenty percent return sounds like a good deal, as long as I'm not being conned."

"What would it take to convince you, Jack?" Stobbard's mouth was watering. Not at the thought of the delicious sea bass that was making its way to their table, but at the thought of closing the deal he so desperately needed to complete the investment portfolio for Howard…

Colby looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me who this third party is and I might believe you."

Stobbard chuckled. "Ah, that's the beauty of this deal, Jack." He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Colby's and whispered conspiratorially. It's your _own damn government_…" He chuckled again and sat back. "And if you still need convincing, well, how about a little demonstration?"

"What kinda demonstration?"

"Oh, let's just say I'd watch the news carefully in a couple of hours if I were you…"

3333333

Colby and Diane walked into the war room, ignoring the sarcastic catcalls and wolf whistles as the other agents mocked their well-dressed colleagues. Don ripped his headset off and studied the two agents. "My, don't you two look dashing?" He grinned briefly at Colby, who blushed awkwardly.

"Quit it, Don. I never did like Dior. Cuts way too tight under the arms, man!" He flashed a brief grin at his boss. "D'ya get it all?"

"Every word, bud." Don frowned. "Seems like David's hunch that this was big was right."

"Don, what worries me is that Stobbard talked about some kind of demonstration. That doesn't sound like a good thing to me, man."

"I know. Whatever it is, it's gonna be newsworthy, according to him. Any ideas?"

"Well, he did say that they were planning to destabilise an oil rich country." Diane sat down carefully, checking before she did that no lose screws would snag the expensive silk of her dress and tear it. Unlike Colby's suit, her dress hadn't come from the evidence locker. It was her own and she was particularly fond of it… "Perhaps we should be looking at possible targets in LA? Embassies, consulates, that kind of thing?"

Don nodded. "Agreed. Micky, start checking. See if you can cross reference any of Stobbard's recent business deals with countries that are known to be politically unstable."

"That'll be all of 'em, then." Micky grinned.

"Stop being a smart-arse Cox, and bloody do it." Diane flashed him a brief frown and he just grinned back at her.

"On it, boss. And I still say you should've gone with the red dress."

"Piss off, Micky."

"Pissing off, guv." Micky grinned and trotted out of the war room and back to his desk.

Colby took the coffee offered to him by Doug Cross and nodded a thanks. "Any word on Ian, Dougie?"

"He's staying low for a few hours. Didn't want to go straight back in just in case Hunter wasn't ready. We've set a link up with the ATF and they're gonna give us the nod when it's safe to move."

"Okay. So all we have to do is wait and…"

"…Don? I think you guys better see this." Nikki walked into the war room and picked up the remote. She pressed a button and the plasma screen flickered on to CNN news…

33333333

The mansion in the heart of Beverley Hills was brightly lit and the pounding beat of some garage track thumped loudly. The party was in full swing. Scores of 'beautiful people' lounged, chatted, laughed, 'networked' and generally enjoyed the hospitality of their host. Francis Gettisman had just completed a nice little arms deal for ten million dollars. He was in a party mood. It had been a much more attractive venture than the one Stobbard had brought to him a few days earlier. He'd turned that one down flat. Too risky. Besides, who wanted to get involved with some grubby little war thousands of miles away? The oil business was even more cut throat than the damn arms trade. _This _was what it was all about. Surrounding yourself with the luxuries of a perfectly respectable business that paid nicely, as long as you could make sure the end user certificates were all in place. It was the perfect end to a perfect day…

A sudden hissing and a smell of cordite filled the air. Gettisman glanced at his watch and frowned. The fireworks weren't due for another twenty minutes…

The Stinger missile landed right in the middle of the mansion compound.

The blast was enormous, punching out the walls and sending roof tiles, shards of concrete and cinder blocks screaming through the air. Within seconds, the 'beautiful people' weren't quite so beautiful any more. Flesh, bone and blood splattered the marble tiles that surrounded the pool and the clear water turned muddy red as several shredded bodies floated on the surface. Secondary explosions ripped through the compound as Ferraris, Porsches and Bugattis erupted into very expensive fireballs, ignited by the sheer ferocity of the initial blast.

Screams of the dying filled the night sky. They were the last thing Gettisman heard as his life slipped away in an agonising blur of confusion, pain and terror…

Within moments the screams of the victim were echoed by the screams of the emergency service vehicles responding to the countless 911 calls…

33333333

The agents watched in disbelief as the carnage unfolded on the news. CNN's helicopter was giving them a birds' eye view of the devastated compound and the twisted mangle of wreckage and body parts scattered across it.

"Jesus…" Don stared in horror at the scene.

Colby's phone chirruped and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket, staring at the caller ID. Withheld… He frowned and flipped the phone open.

"_Mister Higgins? You asked for a demonstration. Have you seen the news?"_

Colby frowned and made a quick gesture telling everyone to be quiet. "Yeah, I'm watching it now, Stobbard. And?"

"_And that's what happens to people who pull out of deals, Jack. I take it you won't be so foolhardy?" _Stobbard chuckled. _"I'll call you in the morning. Have your…'investment' money ready to transfer. We do this on my say so. And Jack? No tricks, okay? A deal's a deal. My people would be very disappointed if you were to decide to renade on an agreement. Fifty million. I'll let you know where and when." _

Colby snapped the phone shut and closed his eyes. He'd asked for a demonstration. He'd got one. One that had made him responsible for the deaths of god knows how many innocent people in an horrific explosion of death and white hot metal. His fingers tightened around the phone and with a sudden roar of fury he hurled it across the room, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces against the wall…

Don flinched as the phone smashed into smithereens. He shot a concerned look towards his agent. "Colby, what the hell…"

"_SON OF A __**BITCH!**_" Colby's eyes snapped open, filled with rage and guilt. "Son of a fuckin' _**BITCH!**_…"

_**TBC…**_


	9. Keep your enemies closer

Disclaimer:

It's time for spy!shit, crosses and double crosses again folks, so buckle up… As always, I own nothing to do with Numb3rs or the regulars. The Brits and the story are all mine, copyrighted, bought, paid for, the whole shebang. And it'll go badly for anyone who says otherwise…

Usual warning for bad language etc and a particularly stressed out Colby Granger this episode, so you've been warned…

A/N: This will be the last update for a couple of weeks folks, due to work commitments, so after this episode we're on hiatus for about three weeks. Apologies, but my paying work has to take priority, so please bear with me and I'll have the next episode up as soon as possible. In the meantime, enjoy and I'll see you all in April.

Roll Credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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Micky Cox heard the yell of anger from Colby and popped his head around the door, a puzzled expression on his face. "Boss? Everything alright?"

"No Micky, everything is NOT alright!" Colby snarled the reply and began to pace like a caged tiger.

"What the hell, Colby?" Don threw the younger man a sharp look as the cell phone died a thousand deaths against the wall. Colby paced angrily, still trying to process what had happened. He frowned in concentration, not hearing Don's question, wrapped up in a world of crosses and double crosses. Every time they'd gone undercover, people had been hurt. Innocent people. First David, now this? What the hell indeed… "Colby! I said…" Don's agitated tones cut through Colby's mental cartwheels and the big man looked up sharply.

"Sorry, Don. I'm sorry. I…shit, man, this is _fucked up_!" Colby ran his hand through his short hair and sniffed sharply. Don knew that sniff for what it was – the guy was boiling.

Diane clamped her hand around Colby's arm as he passed her mid-pace. "Colby, calm down. Focus. I'm taking a wild guess that was Stobbard on the phone."

Colby took a deep breath in. "Yeah. That little firework display? Apparently, that was for our benefit."

"What?" Don was dreading the explanation he knew was coming.

"Stobbard. He arranged that goddamn massacre to show us what happens when people go back on deals, Don."

"Jesus…"

"Man, I'm sorry. I didn't think the son of a bitch would do something like that."

"Hey, c'mon Colby, this isn't your fault…"

"Yes it damn well _is, _Don! I shoulda _known_ he'd pull a stunt like this!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger. How the hell could you have predicted _this_?" Don scowled at the rolling news pictures of the burning mansion. "God damn it, don't those news people have _any_ sense of decency for the dead?" Close ups of mangled body parts filled the screen. Don grabbed the remote and shut the offending pictures off. He knew they'd be getting a first-hand look at the carnage themselves in a half-hour or so. He threw the remote down on the table. "Okay. I need intel, people. Right now. Colby, what's the status with Stobbard?"

"He wants me to have fifty mill ready to wire to him on his notice."

"Fifty freakin' _million_? God damn it Colby, we can't cover that kinda marker!" Don's voice was shrill with annoyance.

"Not a problem, Don." Micky Cox stood leaning against the doorframe, an intense look on his face. "Give me half an hour. I can have a dummy bank account set up in Jack Higgins' name. Won't cost us a penny. As soon as I know which bank Stobbard wants the money wired to, it should take me about an hour to bust through their encryption codes and wire a moody transfer. Fool the bank into thinking it's got fifty mill of Col's money. Stobbard'll do himself a little Snoopy dance, Col and Dee's cover is secure and they're still in the game. Waddya think, guv?" Micky directed his last question towards Diane.

"I think that firstly, your ability to hack into the international banking system with such ease is becoming a bit of a concern and secondly, before we knee-jerk, Micky, we need to take a time out. Something isn't right about this." Diane paused for a moment. "I dunno, lads. It's almost as if…" Diane paused and glanced at a figure standing in the doorway behind Micky. Agent Bill Chapman was angrily trying to push his way past the powerfully built Englishman. Micky threw a casual glance over his shoulder and frowned briefly at the man.

"D'ya wanna move your goddamn ass there, buddy?"

Micky's frown deepened. "Who the bollockin' hell d'you think your shovin' around, mate?"

"Micky, let the _gentleman_ in, there's a good lad." Diane's voice was flat and neutral – enough to tell Micky that he should let the man into the briefing but also with enough emphasis on the word 'gentleman' to tell him that she thought the guy was a complete pillock. Micky reluctantly stepped aside, his piercing blue eyes boring into the man as he met him in the cramped space of the doorway. Chapman paused, pulled himself up to his full height and locked eye contact with Micky in the mistaken belief that he could stare the man down.

A slow, nasty smile spread across Micky's lips. Chapman inwardly flinched. That nasty little smile was deeply disturbing at a primeval level. It was like trying to stare down a grumbling Doberman Pincer. Chapman scowled furiously at the man and muttered a stream of angry words. "Goddamn limeys freakin' takin' over the damn place! Why the hell don't you fuck off back to your own insignificant little country, huh?"

Before Micky could snarl a reply back, a sharp "Cox! Stand down!" from Diane held him in check. He moved to one side, waving the irate Chapman into the room, that nasty little smile still fixed firmly on his lips.

Chapman scuttled past Micky and towards Don. "You wanna tell me what the hell's going on, Eppes?"

Don frowned briefly and then his face became a neutral mask. "I dunno, buddy. You come in here and start throwing insults around pissing off half my team, you wanna tell _me_, Chapman?"

Chapman looked around the room. Eppes. Granger. Armstrong. The three senior agents had that same look of united distrust against him that they'd had in Falling's office earlier. They were closing ranks on him again. And now there seemed to be even more goddamn Brits around the place. He focused back on Don. "I guess you've seen the news, Eppes?"

"Yeah. We've seen it."

"And that doesn't concern you that your operation is _way _outta control? That your people have come barging in on something they don't understand?" He rounded on Diane and waved an angry finger at her. "And before you start with all that we were here first crap, lady, I ain't interested, okay? You _lied _to me about having goddamn extradition orders…"

"Mister Chapman, I did _not _lie about that. At no point did I actually _say _that we had an extradition order in place for Richard Stobbard…"

Chapman's blood boiled and he interrupted Diane in mid-sentence. "Oh, right. I _see._ My mistake. You just waved a load of papers around and _implied _that you had permission to grab the limey son of a bitch from under our noses! What, is this that great British irony I hear so much about?"

Diane's green eyes flashed with annoyance. "_Mister Chapman_, you wouldn't know irony if it ran up behind you waving a big flag with 'irony' written on it and bit you on the arse. The fact that you _assumed _something that was later proved to be incorrect is entirely your problem, matey, not mine. You _do _know what they say about assuming being the mother of all fuck ups, right?"

"Guys, that's _enough_!" Don's voice was sharp. "We can play the blame game later. Right now, we've got bigger problems. Colby, a word." Don beckoned towards the door and Colby nodded in response, following his boss out of the room and leaving Chapman to fume and bicker with Diane in peace.

Don found a quiet corner of the corridor and waited for Colby to join him. "Bud, we've got a whole heap of crap balanced right over our heads right now. Tell me something that'll stop the whole damn lot coming down on top of us." Colby studied the tiled floor of the corridor intently, not answering Don's question. "Col? C'mon buddy, I need you here…"

Colby looked up, a deep frown creasing his brow. "We got bits and pieces of a jigsaw puzzle here Don, but we're trying to do it without a damn clue as to what picture we're trying to make. I know for a _fact _that Stobbard had something to do with that attack on Gettisman's place, but I don't have any _proof._ He said it was a demonstration of what happens when people cut out of a deal with whoever he's working for, but you can be damn sure he didn't do the dirty himself."

"You think he got Duvall's team to hit the house?"

"Probably. They'd have the training to handle a target like that, so it makes sense. And they're ruthless enough not to give a crap about collateral damage, either."

"But there's no way we can _directly _connect him to it."

"Nope. It could be he's just the messenger boy, Don. Someone further up the food chain could've gotten Duvall to blow the shit out of Gettisman."

Don sighed. "We don't have any choice here, do we?"

"Waddya mean?"

"I mean we have to run with this. Every damn instinct is screaming at me to pull you and Dee out of this Stobbard deal, get Ian the hell outta dodge and kick Chapman out of the nearest open window…"

"…Don, we're five floors up, buddy…"

"You know what I mean, Colby. But if we do that, we've got _nothing_." Don ran his hand through his short hair and scowled furiously. "This is wrong, Col. This is way wrong."

"Dee's got the same feeling. Just before Chapman came in…"

"Yeah, I picked up on that too. What's your gut feeling on this, bud?"

"Honestly? It stinks the place out. But right now we don't have enough of the picture to see how all the pieces fit." Colby sighed. "I'm afraid you're right, Don. I think we just have to hold our nerve and run with it. My worry is Chapman. He's one angry dude. And not exactly subtle, either."

"Agreed."

"Any way you can get him off our backs?"

"Not really. We might not like it, but we need him, Col. He's Hunter's handler…"

"Poor bastard…"

"Yeah, I know. But don't forget that poor bastard shot David, put you, Dee _and _Ian at risk and is potentially a rogue. We don't know for sure yet. But the only way we can keep yours and Ian's cover intact is to work with Chapman."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, huh?"

"Exactly."

Colby flashed Don a brief grin. "Well, in that case bud, I reckon we should get back in the war room before the Brits rip him to pieces for callin' them limeys!"

Don allowed himself a brief chuckle and patted Colby on the shoulder. "Good call, Col. That look in Dee's eyes when we left _was _kinda scary!"

"Don, believe me. She ain't even warmed up yet!" Colby smiled, but Don could see there was no humour behind the look. Colby was worried about something. And that in turn worried Don…

Don marched back into the war room, closely followed by Colby. Chapman was in mid-barrage with Micky Cox, who was standing in front of him, his arms crossed and a nasty glint in his eyes. Diane was desperately trying to stop from laughing. Don didn't want to know what kind of a conversation had taken place between the irate Chapman and the Brits while he and Colby were out of the room, and frankly, he didn't care right now. He flashed a look towards Colby – a look that told Granger wordlessly to, 'get your team under control, bud'.

Colby nodded and stepped between Micky and Chapman, his back to the angry American. "Stop poking the bear, Micky. That's an order." He laid a hand on his friend's chest, a cold, hard look in his green eyes. A look that said, 'back off. Or you'll have to go through me.' Micky held up his hands in submission and took a step back.

"Sorry boss."

Don ignored the quiet reprimand Colby gave Micky and picked up the remote control. He clicked a button and a cascade of documents and photos filled the screen. "Okay. _Enough _with the I don't knows and he said she said crap. We've got a job to do so let's focus, okay? I want solutions. Not more problems." He pointed a finger at Chapman. "You. You're either here to work with us, or you're in the way. If you're in the way, I'll ask Micky here to escort you outta here. That's the _British _version of escorting, okay? It's kinda more forceful than our home grown American version."

"It involves a size twelve boot up the arse and an open window, old son." Micky didn't smile as he said it. He'd had quite enough of being called a limey for one day. Colby, however, had difficulty from stopping a broad grin spreading across his face, as did Don.

"So. You here to offer solutions, Chapman?" Don raised an eyebrow. "Or…" He left the question unfinished. Chapman gave Micky Cox one last look and swallowed nervously. He looked at Don, scowling deeply and nodded a reply. "Okay then. So. Let's go through what we know for certain. Colby, this deal with Stobbard?"

"I need Micky to set up that moody bank account, bud. That'll give us more leverage and keep us in play."

"Agreed. Mick, get to work."

"On it." Micky gave Chapman a cheeky wink and walked calmly out of the war room.

Don turned to Diane. "Where are we with British intelligence on Stobbard?"

"Six is sending over the latest intel. I'd like to get in touch with Doug and find out what the status is with Ian right now, Don. We need to keep close tabs on that."

"No, you work on Six. I want you and Colby focusing on Stobbard. Chapman, I need you to brief Hunter on developments. Try and get him working with Ian, okay?" Don turned to Colby. "Col, I can't have you or Dee anywhere near the Gettisman investigation. You get noticed by the wrong people, you're in real trouble."

"Agreed."

"Nikki, get Liz in here. We'll work the Gettisman angle. Col, meet up with Ian and bring him up to speed." Don paused. "Okay people, let's get to it. Let's start trying to join these goddamn dots up, shall we?"

3333333

"This is risky, Granger." Ian slipped quietly into the passenger seat of the Charger and shut the door.

"I know. But it can't be helped, buddy. You spoken to Hunter yet?" Colby turned the ignition on and the big truck slipped out into the LA traffic. Better to talk on the move than stay stationary…

Ian settled back into the seat and stared out of the window. "Nope. Staying low, Thought it would be advisable until we knew who to trust." Ian frowned and turned to Colby. "_Can _we trust Hunter, Col?"

"Right now? It's probably wise not to trust _anyone _outside the team, Ian. Hunter's on our side, granted, but I've still got my doubts about this Chapman character."

"Whoa, wait up. Chapman? As in Bill Chapman? Short guy, dark hair? Really angry all the time?"

Colby threw Ian a surprised glance and then focused back on the road. "You _know _him?"

"_Of_ him. He transferred over to ATF about five years ago."

"Transferred from where?"

"Internal investigations. The guy got a bit fast and loose with the rulebook and two FBI agents died as a result. Apparently he screwed up an investigation into corruption at the DC office and pointed the finger at two innocent guys. Trouble was, the _real _dirty bastards got jittery and took the pair of them out with a car bomb. Chapman was never directly implicated with the screw-up, but he was quietly sidelined over to ATF to avoid any…_embarrassment_." Ian paused. "Col, if Chapman's involved then we've got a whole heap of problems. That guy's a goddamn jinx."

"That guy is Hunter's handler, man."

"Shit! You're joking me, right?"

"Sorry bud, no joke." Colby sighed. "Okay. Well, at least we've got a head's up about Chapman, thanks for the intel. So, how do you wanna play this, Ian?" Colby glanced into the driver's mirror and frowned…

"I was hoping you'd tell me, Granger. You're the undercover expert."

Colby chuckled. "Dude, right now I'm in it up to my neck with Stobbard. You heard about the Gittisman shitstorm?"

"Yeah. Saw it on the news. How's that connected to any of this?"

"Gittisman was supposed to be an investor in the deal Stobbard's putting together. He pulled out. Dee and I are in with Stobbard as a new investor and the fourth of July firework show in Beverley Hills was partly for our benefit to show what happens when people pull outta deals with Stobbard's paymasters. Duvall's crew are prime suspects, and I need you to try and get something concrete for me, bud. Anything that can tie them to the explosion means that we can pull them in and get at least one goddamn variable outta the picture."

"Jesus Granger, you sound like the professor!"

"Yeah, and it's a real shame he's still eating strawberries and cream in merry old England."

"Isn't taking Duvall's team out gonna spook Stobbard?"

"Possibly. But we can't risk anyone else dying for no reason, Ian. Nine people were killed at that villa tonight, bud, and only one of them was an arms dealer. That gives us eight innocents. I don't want any more blood on my conscience, bro." Colby paused, a pained look flashing through his eyes.

"Col, even if it _was _for your benefit, you couldn't have known what they'd do, man. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Yeah. I know. Everyone keeps tellin' me that. But I ain't prepared to let that French lunatic and his crew go all Sierra Leone on everyone's ass in the middle of LA. Not on my watch, buddy. Get me something concrete on 'em and they're history, okay? One way or the other."

"Understood." Ian didn't like the 'one way or the other' comment. He knew that when Granger said things like that, the script went out of the window and things got real nasty _real _quick. Ian had done his time in Special Forces. But he'd usually had the advantage of being a mile away from his targets. Colby was used to getting up close and personal with hostile combatants. Granger's years of covert and black ops in the Middle East and Eastern Europe had given him an edge that Ian didn't have – and a ruthlessness that sometimes chilled the sniper to his core. He was thankful that Granger had enough self-control and sense of honour not to unleash everything he was capable of. But sometimes…just sometimes…there was a little flash – the merest _hint _of Colby's darker side. He'd seen before what that darker nature could do when it was let loose. And it scared the hell out of Ian…

Colby suddenly swung the truck sharp left into a side street and glanced again in the driver's mirror.

Ian's senses prickled. "Problem?"

"Not sure."

"That's good enough for me." Ian immediately pulled his Glock from its shoulder holster and checked the clip. Colby reached behind and pulled out his A1 from the belt of his jeans and handed it to Ian. Ian checked the gun. "Full clip, one in the pipe." He slid the bolt of the A1 back and handed the gun back to Colby. Ian glanced at the side mirror and saw the blurry shape of an Impala behind them.

"That fucker's been on our tail for the last five minutes. Any of Duvall's crew drive an Impala?"

"No idea."

"Run a plate check, bud."

Ian opened the glovebox and pulled out a radio. "Charlie four to control."

_"Go ahead Charlie four…"_

"Plate check, blue Impala California license plate number six, David, Bravo Bravo, seven, two, three."

_"Stand by…"_

Ian waited for the reply, glancing once again in the mirror. The Impala was still behind them as Colby swung the Charger sharp right.

"_Charlie four, license number six, David, Bravo Bravo, seven, two, three is a restricted plate. No further information available."_

"Copy that." Ian put the radio back in the glove compartment and shut the lid. "Col?"

Colby scowled at the reflection of the Impala. "Restricted plate. Goddamn Company car!"

"Why the hell would the CIA be tailing us?" Ian paused and chuckled briefly. "Oh. Silly me. I'm sitting in a car with a damn spook and I'm asking dumbassed questions like that."

"Trust me Ian, these clowns ain't no friends of mine. And they're about to blow our damn cover wide open!" Colby snarled furiously and swung the truck back onto Wilshire Boulevard and slotted the big car into a line of moving traffic. "Give me that black cell phone in the glovebox." Ian flipped open the glovebox and scrabbled around inside, pulling out the cell phone. "Stick it in the cradle for me, would you? This traffic's stacked." Colby carefully weaved around the worst of the traffic, glancing back occasionally to note how close the Impala was. Ian put the cell phone in the hand's free cradle and switched it on. Colby reached over and pressed a couple of buttons and the dialling tone chattered over the speaker.

_"Identify and be known…"_

"Lawrence, you goddamn shitkicking, yellowbellied, Texan son of a bitch, what the FUCK are your people doin' sitting on my ass? Are you _tryin' _to get me killed, you dumb _fuck_?" Colby unleashed a torrent of snarled abuse at the phone.

_"Granger. Ever the one for security protocol, huh, buddy?"_

"Don't you fuckin' buddy me, you jerk-off! What gives?"

"_Bit of a cross-agency breakdown in comms, by the sound of things. I could ask you the same question, bro."_

"Is anyone actually talking to _anyone else_ in this goddamn circus? Or are we just playing fuck everyone else's operation up?" Colby's voice was sharp and angry. "Back them the hell off, Lawrence, or I swear to you my passenger, who happens to be a pretty damn good shot, is gonna use them as fuckin' _target practice_!"

"_Okay, okay! Jesus Col, you ever thought about switching to decaff? Seriously, dude…"_

"One hour. Usual place. And I want _explanations_, Lawrence, okay?"

"_I'll bring some bread for the ducks."_

"Fuck you, Lawrence!" Colby disconnected the call and glanced back at the Impala. It had dissolved into the traffic, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. Colby scowled angrily at the traffic in front of him, resisting the urge to give the slow moving soccer mom in the Volvo a blast of the big truck's horn and pushing back the boiling road rage to a dangerous simmer. "Get back in touch with Duvall. Do it carefully, and don't give Hunter a goddamn _thing _until I say so. Do _NOT _lose touch with Doug, he's your contact man. Anything feels hinkey, you don't fuckin' wait, Ian, you _call me_, am I clear?"

Ian could tell that Colby wasn't in the mood for discussions. "Understood. Drop me here. I'll contact Doug every two hours."

"Make sure you damn well do. Go." Colby stopped at a traffic light and Ian hopped quickly out of the car. He paused and leaned back through the open window. "Oh, and Col? What Lawrence said about switching to decaff?" He grinned broadly. "Think about it, dude, seriously!"

"Fuck _off_, Ian!"

Ian grinned again and disappeared into the crowded street…

333333

Colby sat on the bench watching the ducks splash happily about in the lake. Joggers trotted by at regular intervals, and life in MacArthur Park carried on as normal. A powerfully built man in his early forties casually strolled up to the bench and sat down next to Colby. He opened a paper bag and reached inside, pulling out a crust of bread. Crumbling it between his fingers, he tossed the bread towards the ducks, who honked gleefully and pecked furiously at the floating crumbs in the water. Colby chuckled quietly to himself. "Man, I thought you were joking about the bread, Lawrence."

Lawrence laughed merrily and threw another piece of bread. "I like ducks. Especially when they're shredded and wrapped in a pancake with some Hoi Sin sauce." He glanced at Colby. "You look fucked, bro."

"Fucked _off,_ maybe. So. Wanna help lighten my mood a little?"

"By?"

"By telling me what in the hell the Company is doing tailing me in the middle of a major undercover operation?"

"Oh, you mean the whole Stobbard thing. Dude, we were jealous you didn't invite us to the party. I mean, what, you got the ATF, MI6, the Feds, your team, hell, where was _our _invite, bud? I thought your loyalty would lie with us first and foremost, Col. We were quite put out when you started chumming up with the ATF."

"Lawrence, I swear to _God _you piss me off any more and I'll feed _you _to the goddamn ducks!"

Lawrence laughed merrily. "Man, I always did know how to press your buttons, didn't I, big guy? Remember that time in Kumar province, when you shot that Taliban guy in the ass when he rabbited from the roadblock we'd set up and I said…"

"Lawrence, I didn't come here to take a trip down memory lane, bud."

"I know. You wanna know why we were tailing you, right?"

"Thought had kinda crossed my mind, yeah."

Lawrence threw a last piece of bread out towards the throng of ducks and scrunched up the paper bag into a ball. "How's David?"

"What?"

"Your partner. Sinclair. I hear Hunter winged him because he thought Edgerton was the real deal."

"How the fuck do you even know that?"

"You guys should really sweep for bugs more often, dude." Lawrence grinned at the ducks. "I hear Chapman's throwing his toys outta the pram too. That guy's a pain in the ass, if you ask me."

"That's a given, Lawrence. Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay, how about your man Sinclair was a damn sight closer to the truth than he realised?"

"Waddya mean?"

"Ask him about a guy called Howard Greensfeld. But Col?" Lawrence suddenly turned and looked straight at Colby, a serious expression on his face. "Greensfeld has a lot of friends in _very _high places. I _mean_, high. Don't kick this particular hornet's nest unless you're wearing full protective gear, okay? We've been buddies for a long time, brother. I've buried too many friends over the years. I don't wanna have to be goin' to your funeral any time soon, you got me?" Lawrence stood up. "Do me a favour? Give the ducks the rest of that bread, will you? I got a hankerin' for Chinese food tonight and those skinny little fuckers wouldn't make a decent starter." He gave Colby a brief smile and abruptly walked away.

Colby watched his oldest friend wander off and turned to the crumpled paper bag that lay beside him. He sighed and opened the bag, reaching inside. In amongst the crumbs, his fingers closed around a hard object, no bigger than a cigarette lighter. He cupped the object in his hand and scooped out the last of the breadcrumbs, tossing them towards the ducks. Casually, he screwed up the paper bag and threw it in the trash can, sliding the object into his pocket. A flashdrive. And if he knew Lawrence, it had vital information on it that could help him get a little closer to some damn answers…

333333333

Ian closed the door of his apartment and moved silently over to the window. Staying back from the glass, he carefully peered down onto the street below. No sign of any 'interested parties'. He'd made it back without drawing any attention to himself.

"So. You and I have some talkin' to do, buddy."

In an instant Ian swung around, his Glock already in his hand and pointing straight at the shadowy figure sitting in the corner. The figure held his hands up. "Unarmed, Edgerton. I'm unarmed. And sorry about the pounding in the alley. I didn't know who or what you were then, man." Paul Hunter leaned forward so Ian could see his face. "Really. All this inter-agency crap is just one big pain in the fuckin' ass, isn't it?" Paul smiled and reached down beside the chair. Ian cocked the firing pin on the Glock and curled his finger around the trigger just a tiny bit tighter…

Hunter slowly brought his hand back up, a distinctive square bottle in his hands. "Hey, hey, hey! Easy guy, easy. Just a peace offering, okay?" He held the bottle of Jack Daniel's out where Ian could see it. "You got any glasses in this place?"

"What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"Your boss and my boss thought we should have a chat. See if we can't start workin' things out a bit. Stop us from killin' each other or getting anyone else killed, ya know?"

"Did you shoot David Sinclair?"

"Is he okay? I aimed to the left, but he turned right at the wrong moment." Hunter looked genuinely concerned. "Look man, I didn't know who you were or _what _you were. As far as I knew you were contracted by Duvall to kill Sinclair. I couldn't let that happen, bud. Unlike some people, I happen to think that we're all on the same damn side, even if our bosses _do _seem determined to play it otherwise. So? Is David okay?"

"He's dead. You didn't aim far enough to the left, buddy." Ian didn't trust Hunter enough to tell him that David was in fact alive and well.

A look of dismay spread over Hunter's face. "Shit! Shit…I…shit!" He sat back in the chair, genuine distress filling his eyes. "Fuck, man! _FUCK!_" He ran his hand across his face. "Okay. That's it. I'm out of this. I am fuckin' _out!_" He stood up and started to pace. Ian watched the man, the Glock still resting in his hand. Hunter suddenly spun around, a pleading look in his eyes. "I _swear_ to you, Ian, I didn't mean for that to happen…"

Ian made a decision. The guy's distress at hearing David was dead was genuine. He'd been in law enforcement for long enough to know when someone was telling the truth. It was a risk, but he needed to show some element of trust here if they were to start working this case together… He held a hand up. "Hold up there, bud. Listen to me. What I'm about to tell you is classified, you understand? Sinclair is alive. We've got him in protective custody. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, he died yesterday from his injuries."

"You _bastard_, why the hell did you tell me he was…"

"…Because I wanted to see your reaction, my friend." Ian put the gun away and took the bottle of Jack Daniel's out of Hunter's limp hand. He held the bottle up and waved it with a grin. "Guess you could _really _do with one of these now, right?" He spun the top off the JD and took a swig straight out of the bottle. He wiped the neck with his hand and held the bottle out to Hunter. "And no, I don't have any glasses. You'll have to swig it Marine style, buddy."

Hunter took the bottle, his eyes never leaving Ian. "I was a Marine myself, brother. I know how to drink JD." He tipped the bottle back and took a mouthful.

Ian laughed and put the safety catch back on the Glock. He crossed over to the bed and sat on the edge, watching Hunter take a second swig from the bottle of bourbon. He laid the Glock down on the bed. Within reach. He may have gambled trusting Hunter, but he wasn't ready to go all out and trust the man _completely_ just yet… "Okay. Has Chapman filled you in?"

"Sounds like your people have a better handle on comms than mine, dude." Hunter passed the bottle over to Ian. "How'd you guys know about Stobbard?"

"You'd be surprised what I know. And how I know it. I've got a boss who's the best damn spook in the business."

"Granger, right?"

"Yep."

"That bastard scares the fuck outta me, man. I've heard he's…"

Ian interrupted quickly. "…You've heard crap, buddy. Now. You're up to speed, I take it?"

"Yeah."

"So give me the lowdown on Duvall."

Hunter settled back into his chair. "He's smart, but not as smart as he likes to think he is. If he likes you, you're in. If he doesn't, you're dead. Simple as that."

"What's his connection with Richard Stobbard?"

"Simple gun for hire. Duvall works for the highest bidder, and right now that's Stobbard."

"What's he doing in LA?"

"We hit a drugs factory over in south America before we arrived in LA. Duvall said he had some business here that would pay well, low risk, high reward job. Told us it was a babysitting gig, nothing more. When Duncan Jones got busted at Miami, Duvall wasn't too bothered. Normally he'd be cussing a storm about it, but he seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Said if we needed a sharp shooter, he'd find a replacement. When you turned up, I guess he thought better to be safe than sorry and hired you. I didn't know you were undercover FBI, although lookin' back on it now I guess I shoulda figured that out." Paul paused and rubbed his nose. "Anyhoo, as soon as he said about taking out Sinclair, I knew I couldn't take the chance that you'd shoot a Fed, so I took the shot myself. That way and with the warning I gave you in the alley, I figured you'd get cold feet and skip town."

"Well, I'm still here. The Deputy Director's done the whole it's a sad loss of a great agent speech, so I'm guessing Duvall thinks by now I've been successful." Ian took another swig from the bottle and handed it back to Paul. "Thing is, how do we play it from here?"

"Duvall sent me here to congratulate you on a job well done, man."

"Seriously?"

"I told you, he isn't as bright as he thinks he is, Ian." Paul gave Ian a brief smile and swigged from the bottle. "He's a very black and white kinda guy. He asked me to give you this." Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it over to Ian, who caught it deftly and opened it. The envelope was stuffed with hundred dollar bills. "He calls it walking around money." Paul gave Ian another small smile. Ian put the wad of bills back in the envelope and dropped it onto the bed.

"Generous."

"Yeah."

"Okay. So as far as Duvall's concerned I'm legit?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. And you?"

"Waddya mean?"

"He trusts you?"

"Implicitly"

Ian smiled. "So we're all good here." He held his hand out and Paul passed him the bottle of Jack Daniel's. Ian held it up in salute. "Here's to inter-agency co-operation, man!"

Paul sat back in his chair and smiled broadly. "Amen to that, brother!"

Ian took a last swig from the bottle and paused for a moment, studying the floor. "One last question, Paul. The hit on Gittisman. Was that Duvall?"

"What hit?" Paul frowned.

Ian glanced up. "He didn't tell you about it?"

"Nope."

"Hmm." Ian looked thoughtful. "Maybe he doesn't trust you as much as you think he does, bud…"

33333333

Richard Stobbard lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Next to him, a beautiful red haired woman lay dozing peacefully, her naked skin covered only by the corner of a silk sheet. 'Shame it wasn't _another _red head', Stobbard thought to himself. The girl had been accommodating and a reasonably pleasant diversion for a couple of hours. But it wasn't 'Alex'. That pissed Stobbard off. He was used to getting what he wanted. Higgins had been an unexpected flaw in his plan to seduce Alex, but no matter. Business was business. You didn't get something for nothing in this game, and he had to remember the bigger picture. In a way, it had worked out well. He had the final investor in position. All he had to do now was wait for the call from Howard and they could set everything in motion…

His cell phone buzzed quietly on the bedside table and Stobbard reached over, scooping it up before the vibrations woke…what was her name? Never mind, it didn't matter… He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, padding silently over towards the balcony window. He stepped out into the warm LA air and slid the door closed behind him before answering the call. "Stobbard…"

"_You're a damn fool, Stobbard!" _The voice at the other end of the phone was full of accusation.

"What?"

_"Your stupidity has put the entire operation at risk!"_

"I…what the _hell _are you talking about, Howard?"

_"What does the name Colby Granger mean to you?_"

"Nothing. Should it?"

"_It damn well should do! Your so-called new investor?"_

"Jack Higgins, yeah. He's legit. I've done a full background check on him. He…"

_"…He's a goddamn FBI AGENT, you IDIOT! And not just any old Fed, buddy, he's one of the top counter intelligence agents in the damn COUNTRY!"_

"WHAT? Fuck! FUCK!" Stobbard felt his insides twist into a tight knot.

_"The Feds are crawling all over the damn operation."_

"How…I mean, how the hell do you know this?"

_"Because I've got information from a VERY reliable source on the inside, Stobbard. Right on the inside."_

"What do you want me to do?"

There was a snort at the other end of the phone. _"What do I want you to do? Isn't it obvious, man? I want you to KILL him!"_

Stobbard stood looking out at the LA landscape, the phone pressed to his ear and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

_"And this time, no passing it over to your pack of mercenary rats, Stobbard. You do this one yourself. Do you hear me, Stobbard? I said, **kill Colby Granger**…"_

_**TBC…**_


	10. Justice at any cost

Disclaimer and author's note:

Righty-ho then, first the disclaimer. As always, I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs or the regular characters. I do, however, own the story and the Brits, and I've got a piece of paper wot proves it. No really, it's got that fancy gold nibbling around the edges and everyfink! Or is that my wedding invitation to my mate's nuptials? Anyhoo, the story's mine, okay?

Usual warning applies for bad language and violence.

Now the author's note. I know it's been a bugger of a long time waiting around for this update, and that I also owe you lot an update on Minesweeper. I'm sorry that you've all had to wait so long – not only has my work taken up far more of my time lately, thanks to me being in a senior position within a copywriting company that's going great guns right now, but I also haven't been exactly in the right head-space for creative writing recently either. Please accept my apologies and be assured that I will get to Minesweeper very soon, that's a promise.

Right then. Off we go…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

**3333333333333**

"Hey bud." Colby's face lit up with a warm smile as he saw his friend sitting up in bed. "Yer lookin' a bit more with it, man."

David frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Seriously. Did you tell them to give me the most uncomfortable pillows in the entire hospital on purpose?"

"Now why would I do that?" The grin didn't leave Colby's face as he sat down next to the bed.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe you were getting lonely without me?" David returned his friend's smile.

"Can I have your desk?"

"What? No! Jesus, Colby, you've got a bigger desk than me!"

"I only ask you to get that reaction."

"You're a son of a bitch, Granger."

Colby laughed merrily. "And you wouldn't have me any other way. Admit it."

"So did you just come here to torment me?" David shifted and cursed quietly as the pillows refused to offer any comfort.

Watching his friend have a bed linen crisis, Colby stood up and, chuckling quietly to himself, gently helped David sit forward while he rearranged the pillows. He lowered his friend carefully down onto the pillows and David sank back with a sigh. "Thanks, Col. That's much better."

"Well, you were making such a goddamn fuss. Anything to shut you up, man!"

"Ass."

"I've brought grapes."

"I don't like grapes."

"Fine. Well, you can watch me eat 'em, then." Colby opened the paper bag, detached a grape from the bunch and popped it into his mouth, grinning cheerfully while he chewed.

David shook his head but couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was good to see his best friend again. He had felt horribly vulnerable laying in the hospital bed, even with the constant FBI guard at his door. But now Colby was here, he felt strangely reassured to have his partner and friend at his side once more. "So how's things back at the ranch?"

"Stampede, buddy."

"Huh?"

The cheerful look vanished from Colby's face and a more serious, thoughtful expression replaced it. Colby spoke quietly and with an intensity that immediately prickled David's senses. "What can you tell me about Howard Greensfeld?"

"Greensfeld?" David shifted on his pillows and winced as he sat back up. "Why?"

"Because someone I trust told me that we were kicking a hornet's nest here, and that Greensfeld was most likely to sting anyone who got in the way. Who is he, David?"

"He's a big gun in Washington. Top of the food chain, bud. Head of the internal investigations inter-agency task force. The guy has a direct line to the president, Col."

"What inter-agency task force?"

"A couple of years ago, the FBI, the ATF, border control and a bunch of other agencies including a couple of the major PDs like LA and New York signed an agreement allowing an independent internal investigation unit made up of representatives from all the agencies was created. Its mandate was to ensure that cops didn't investigate cops, ya know? Kinda like a neutral, independent department. I know your people didn't sign up, Col."

"We've got our own internal affairs people, buddy. Yer looking at one of 'em."

"I know. But there was a lot of bad feeling towards the CIA about not wanting to take part. You and the NSA were the only organisations that didn't go for the whole inter-agency co-operation idea."

"And that surprises you?"

"Knowing what I know about how you guys operate now? Nope. But I know Greensfeld had a real bee in his bonnet about the CIA in particular. He hates you guys and anyone connected with Langley. Your name even came up a couple of times in conversation. And not in a good way, brother."

"Really? So you've met this guy?"

"Yeah, once. Greensfeld is a control freak. He can't stand the fact that there are some people out there who he can't keep in line personally."

Colby smiled lazily. "Okay. So what's his weak spot, bud?"

"I don't know that he even has one, Col."

"Dude, _everyone's _got a weak spot. Whether it's drugs, hookers or goddamn Nascar."

"The guy's teetotal, not married, he drives a Buick and is totally committed to his work. He's one of those scary people that believes the fate of the nation lays in his hands." David shifted again. "Look Col, your contact is right about him. He's one dangerous son of a bitch. And before you come back with one of your smart-assed comments, you need to be careful, bud. Seriously. He's got a lot of friends in very high places."

Colby snorted. "Yeah, so I've been told. But you and I both know that nobody is above the law, David. _Nobody_." He screwed the top of the bag shut and stood up. "Listen, I've spoken to the doctors and they say you'll be okay to move in a day or so. As soon as you're fit, we'll get you to a safehouse. The only people who'll know where you are will be me, Don and Dee. The team'll take turns staying with you until we're sure nobody's gonna take another pot shot at you, okay?"

"Babysitting duty?" David smiled. "Dee's gonna love that."

Colby grinned broadly. "Well, if you will insist on going and getting yourself a target painted on your back, waddya expect?"

David's smile melted away. "Col?"

"Huh?"

"Just make sure you ain't got the same target painted on _your _back, buddy, okay?"

3333333

Stobbard sat in the passenger seat of the BMW watching the parking lot. He hated this. He wasn't a 'hand's on' type of guy. All of his violence was done by proxy. There were people he could pay to do this kind of thing. But Greensfeld had been very clear. And you didn't go against Greensfeld's orders unless you were tired of living…

He fingered the remote control unit nervously, its blinking red LED light acting as a focus and keeping his attention fixed on the black SUV that sat isolated in the lot. He knew that underneath was enough C4 to blow Colby Granger to hell and back. It was a simple set-up, but he was still unsure if he'd connected the right wire to the detonator. He was almost sure. But not quite…

Stobbard frowned as he waited for the big American to make an appearance. Who was he visiting? Sinclair was dead, so it couldn't be him. So who? Stobbard scowled as he scanned the throng of patients, nurses and visitors milling around the building. The SUV was far enough away from the entrance to the hospital to minimise casualties, but there could still be some collateral damage from the blast. Stobbard felt uncomfortable about that. He'd always made sure that any victims of his business weren't innocents. In his mind, he had yet to make the connection between the arms business and the millions of innocent victims it caused every year. Violence by proxy. No blood on his hands. Not directly, anyway. Granger would be the first person he'd ever killed for real. And he _hated _the fact that he'd suddenly realised he wasn't really a very good killer close up. He'd ordered the deaths of people, sure. But to actually do it himself, for real, without any 'plausible deniability' buffer? He felt vulnerable. Alone. Scared…

He suddenly saw his mark emerging from the hospital entrance. Granger walked quickly towards the SUV. Stobbard could see the mobile phone in Granger's right hand, and the American spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece, oblivious of the danger he was in…

Stobbard's mouth went dry. He swallowed rapidly, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down his temples. He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the interior of the BMW. His hands were so greasy with sweat that he was worried that the remote would slip from his fingers. He watched as Granger reached the SUV and opened the driver's door. Stobbard could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, like the sound of the ocean crashing onto a shoreline. He watched Granger climb into the cab of the SUV, still chatting on the mobile, and slam the door shut…

Stobbard's finger hovered over the button of the remote. The blinking LED light seemed to have taken on a new urgency, flashing frantically, screaming at his brain to _press the button_…

A puff of smoke from the tailpipe of the SUV told Stobbard that Granger had started the engine. Now…PRESS IT NOW…

Stobbard screwed his eyes shut and pressed the button…

3333333

"Don, it's me. David's fine, grouching as usual." Colby walked briskly towards the SUV.

"_Did you ask him about our new alpha?"_

Colby fumbled in his jacket pocket with his left hand to extract the key fob for the SUV. "Yeah. Dude's a top drawer pain in the ass, bud. I'll tell you more when I get back to the office." Colby instinctively scanned the car lot and out of the corner of his eye saw a man sitting in a silver BMW. He frowned to himself. "Uh, Don? We might have a bit of a problem."

"_What's up?"_

Colby's pace quickened as he moved towards his SUV. "I'm in the hospital parking lot and I'm being watched."

"_What?"_

"It's Stobbard. He's sitting in a silver BMW. And he looks _real_ nervous."

"_You sure?"_

"Yeah. Don, I'm sure. Look, we need to move David fast. He's not safe here." Colby reached the SUV and pressed the fob, unlocking the doors. He opened the driver door and climbed into the cab. "If Stobbard's watching me, you can be damn sure that Greensfeld's people are watching Stobbard."

_"Agreed. Okay, let's get the safehouse set up straight away and get David moved. And Col? Be careful, buddy. Something doesn't feel right about this."_

"Don, _nothing _feels right about this, man. On my way back." Colby snapped the phone shut and slammed the driver door closed. He pushed the key into the ignition and settled back into the seat as the engine growled into life. Through the tinted window he carefully glanced over towards the silver BMW. Inside he could see Stobbard, his eyes tight closed and every muscle on his face tensed. Colby frowned and put the SUV into gear…

33333333

Stobbard watched in horror as the SUV pulled out of the parking lot and into the LA traffic. Damn it! Damn it to HELL! He pressed the button on the remote control frantically again and again. The rapidly disappearing SUV failed to explode in a fireball of death and destruction.

"Shit! SHIT!" He hurled the remote onto the passenger seat and stabbed at the ignition button, almost pushing it through the dashboard. The BMW roared into life and he slammed it into gear, the fat tyres screeching in protest as he gunned out of the lot and into the traffic flow. The SUV was visible in the distance, and still perfectly intact. Granger was still alive, and he now had an unexploded bomb with Stobbard's fingerprints all over it attached to the underside of the truck. It was only a matter of time before someone found it…

Stobbard ground his teeth in frustration as he followed the SUV through the heavy LA traffic. He'd screwed up. Royally. If Greensfeld found out, his comfortable life would be over. Everything. Gone in an instant. Stobbard's mind flipped cartwheels as he drove. He had to get that bomb off the SUV and away from Granger's friends in Forensics. But how? What had seemed like a straightforward plan had gone completely south on him, just because he'd had to do the dirty work himself instead of handing it over to an expert like Duvall. Damn Greensfeld! Damn him to hell! Stobbard pounded in frustration on the steering wheel of the BMW and swung a right, following Granger's SUV towards the FBI's offices…

The SUV suddenly pulled up at the side of the road and stopped. Stobbard pulled in a few cars back and waited, the BMW's engine growling quietly on tickover. He watched as Granger hopped out of the truck and into a sandwich shop. Stobbard grinned. Even top FBI agents have to eat, right?

He switched the engine off and shot out of the driver's seat like a scolded rabbit. He had a few seconds at best…

Stobbard ran towards the SUV and darted a quick look into the sandwich shop. Through the glass he could see Granger chatting to the girl behind the counter, ordering his lunch to go. Stobbard sidled up to the SUV and dropped down onto one knee. He stretched out an arm under the SUV and his fingers searched for the box he knew was still attached next to the collector box of the exhaust system. He could feel the searing heat radiating off the hot metal and gingerly felt for the cold plastic of the box he knew would condemn him to at least 20 years in jail if Granger found it first...

"Saw ya followin' me about five blocks back, Stobbard. Whatchya think you're doin', buddy?"

Stobbard froze. That quiet, gravely voice was instantly recognisable. So was the soft click of an A1's hammer going back…

Colby stood over Stobbard, the A1 pointing straight at the back of Stobbard's head. "Hands. _Slowly_. Lemme see 'em both, my friend."

Stobbard raised his left hand slowly and extracted his right hand from underneath the SUV. In an instant, everything had changed. Everything…

Colby kept the gun on Stobbard with one hand, reached into his back pocket with the other and pulled out his cuffs. He snapped the bracelet onto one wrist and, pushing his A1 quickly into the back of his belt, snatched Stobbard's other hand back behind him, securing the cuffs with a fluid motion. He spun Stobbard around and faced him, a slow, lazy smile spreading over his lips. The smile didn't reach the hard, green eyes that bored into Stobbard…

"Guess there's no point in me pretending to be Jack Higgins any more then, huh?" Colby shoved Stobbard hard against the side of the SUV and patted him down quickly, looking for any concealed weapons. He pulled out a Browning 9mm from a holster slung under Stobbard's left armpit and tucked the gun next to his own A1. He pulled Stobbard towards him by the lapels on his jacket and slammed him back against the steel doorframe of the truck. Stobbard winced as he felt the metal jar against his spine, terrified that every jolt that the truck endured as Granger shoved him forcefully against the side would trigger the bomb. The bomb that he was now way too close to… Colby's expression hardened. Stobbard could see the restrained savagery in the man's cold, green eyes. An expression he'd seen in Duvall's eyes, too. Mercenary or Fed – these men were all the same underneath. Ruthless, emotionless killers. The only difference that Stobbard could see between Granger and Duvall was that Granger carried a badge… "So. Wanna try shooting for an explanation?"

Stobbard took a shaking breath. "There's a bomb under your car."

Colby's eyes widened. "What?"

Stobbard had made a decision. It was over. Everything was over. The only chance he had now was to switch sides and co-operate with Granger. It was his one and only shot at staying alive.

"A bomb. Ya know? Bang? Much excitement?" Stobbard spat out his response, disgusted at himself for being so weak, so stupid, so _wrong_ about everything.

"You _son of a BITCH!" _Colby's face contorted into a vicious snarl and he snapped a savage kick at the side of Stobbard's knee. Stobbard yelped and dropped to the floor, pain shooting up his leg as his knee gave way. Colby pushed the kneeling man face forward into the rough asphalt of the sidewalk and pressed his foot into the back of Stobbard's neck. He pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

"Don? Get a bomb squad to Fifth and Main right now."

"_Col?"_

"Just get the team here, Don. And make sure that the bomb squad are first on the scene, okay?"

"_On their way, bud. You okay?"_

Colby glanced down at the prostate man and snarled again. "Yeah. I'm okay…"

33333333

Don watched the cuffed Englishman through the two-way mirror. Stobbard looked stunned, terrified. Don turned as the door into the observation room softly opened. Colby strolled in, a small smile flickering around his lips. "So the bomb squad's removed the bolt on extra I didn't ask the motor pool for, bud."

Don chuckled quietly at Granger's flippancy. "You okay?"

Colby nodded. "Yeah. Thanking my lucky stars that Stobbard's not exactly the Unibomber, but yeah, I'm good."

Don laid a friendly hand on Colby's shoulder, unable to mask the relief he felt. "You were lucky today, Col."

Colby grinned. "Guess so, man. One wire out, and I'd be spread all over the car lot of the hospital." He nodded towards the miserable looking man in the next room. "He said anything yet?"

"Nope. Says he'll only talk to you."

Colby snorted. "Right. How d'ya want me to play this, boss?"

Don studied Stobbard. "I dunno. Let's see what he puts out there first, huh?"

"Don, who knows he's here?"

"You, me, the bomb squad and the team. Why?"

Colby stared at Stobbard and Don waited. He knew that the younger man was doing what he did best – reading the situation, taking into account all the possible variables. Finally, a small frown creased Colby's brow and he spoke quietly. "Every move we've made has been countered, Don. That tells me one thing for sure."

"That we've got a leak."

"Right. Now Stobbard could be very useful and I wanna keep him breathing for as long as possible. I'm thinkin' maybe it would be a good idea to keep his incarceration as quiet as possible?" Colby turned to Don, waiting for approval from his boss.

Don nodded curtly. "Agreed. Suggestions?"

"Get him the hell outta here and somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can control without worrying someone might say the wrong thing to the wrong person."

"Do it." Don stood up and locked his gaze into Colby's eyes. "Do anything you have to, Col. Whatever it takes."

"Anything?"

"_Anything_." Don patted Colby's shoulder gently and smiled. "And bud? Check under your car a bit more regularly, okay? I don't wanna lose you." He walked quietly out of the observation room, leaving the younger man alone. Colby smiled quietly to himself. After years of wondering if Don would ever trust him again after the Chinese affair, after years of feeling that he had to prove himself to Don every time the elevator doors opened up on a new day at the Bullpen, he finally knew for sure. Don _did _trust him. Completely...

333333

Doug Cross kicked the door of the remote house open and pushed it to one side with his shoulder as it rebounded back on him. He called back over his shoulder. "Clear, boss."

The team moved him, shoving a staggering Stobbard in front of them. Micky Cox quickly peeled off to the left, checking the other rooms of the house. Once he'd swept the ground floor, he trotted up the rickety stairs to the next level. Colby kept one hand pressed into the middle of Stobbard's back and gave him another shove. "In. Move." Stobbard staggered again. It was hard to keep your balance with your hands cuffed behind your back and Granger's powerful arm pushing you forward with every step.

Danny Smith brought up the rear. He turned, cast an expert eye around the outside of the house and shut the door. The farmhouse was in a remote part of the foothills that surrounded the metropolis of LA – only an hour's drive from the city, but isolated and long-since abandoned. It smelled of dust, mildew and decay. Paint peeled off the woodwork in sheets and a scattering of newspaper pages fluttered across the bare floors. Pieces of broken furniture littered the rooms and the stale stench of a long-dead racoon gave the air a musty, dense texture.

"All clear upstairs." Micky trotted down the creaking stairs. "Mind you, I wouldn't trust some of them floorboards if I was you. And seriously, do _not _try using the upstairs bathroom!"

Colby chuckled. "Copy that, Mick. Set up, bud."

"On it." Micky deftly caught one of the big black holdalls Doug tossed towards him and headed into the main living space.

"Doug, wanna do a sweep of the area for me?"

Doug nodded curtly at Colby and headed out through the back door, the nose of his M4 Carbine almost seeming to sniff the air in front of him.

"Danny, give me a hand with our guest, would ya?" Colby grabbed Stobbard roughly by the arm and spun him to the right.

Danny Smith gave Stobbard a nasty grin. "With pleasure, boss." He waved a dramatic arm towards the living area. "After_ you, _Mister Stobbard."

Colby gave Stobbard another hard shove and the Englishman stumbled into the room and fell to his knees. He looked up at Granger bearing down on him, an M4 cradled in his arms. That vicious little smile of his taunted Stobbard, but there was no humour at all in Granger's piercing green eyes. A flicker of defiance surfaced briefly in Stobbard's fuddled brain. "What the hell is this? This isn't due process! I have rights!"

"Due process?" Colby snorted a sharp laugh. "Dude, we're _way _past due process." He glanced up at Danny. "Keep this fucker in stress position. He'll probably whine like a baby. If it gets too bad, gag him. There's bound to be an old rag around here somewhere you can use."

"I saw a pair of used underpants on the floor upstairs. Shake the maggots off and they'd be ideal for a gag, boss." Micky Cox grinned nastily at Stobbard.

Colby let out a short laugh. "Perfect. Mick, let me know as soon as you're set up. Perhaps our friend here will be ready to talk to us by then."

Danny aimed a casual kick at Stobbard's ribcage. "He looks pretty ready now, boss."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. I haven't had a damn thing to eat since yesterday apart from a few grapes. I'm gonna put some coffee on and break out the Burritos." Colby smirked at Stobbard. "Can I get you anything, Stobbard? A spine, maybe?" He laughed again and turned away.

"Granger!" Stobbard gasped for air. The kick from Danny had winded him, but it had also made him angry. "You can't do this, you son of a bitch!"

In an instant, Colby turned and grabbed Stobbard's jacket. He hauled him halfway to his feet, holding his entire bodyweight with one hand. Stobbard could see the massive muscles flexing in Granger's left arm and the finger of his right hand curled around the trigger of the M4. Colby dragged the man's body up until Stobbard's face was an inch from his own. As Stobbard stared into the vivid green eyes he could see the murderous fury caged behind them, straining to get out and unleash a world of hurt on his helpless victim. Colby's face contorted into a snarl of rage. "Right now, I can do whatever the HELL I like to you, buddy!" He shook Stobbard like a rag doll. "Out here? There isn't any due process. There isn't any rights. There isn't anybody to stop me from _tearing your fucking head off your shoulders_, you maggot!"

"Col…" Danny's voice was tinged with concern.

"Boss, ease up, mate." Micky immediately picked up on Danny's edgy voice. They both knew how volatile the big American could be, and just how short Colby's temper was.

Colby stared blankly at the trembling Stobbard for a few seconds and then let go of the man's jacket. Stobbard dropped back to the floor, yelping as the pain from his bruised knee reminded him of the vicious kick he'd received earlier from Granger. He glanced back up at his tormentor. Granger still had that dangerous look in his eyes.

Colby sniffed sharply. "You done setting up, Mick?"

"Couple'a minutes, boss." Micky spoke carefully and quietly.

"Good. You boys want some Java?" Without waiting for a reply, Colby turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

Micky glanced at Danny. This was their cue to start the psyche-out session…

Danny puffed out his cheeks. "Phew! Never seen the boss _that _pissed, have you, Mick?"

"Nah. I mean, I've seen him go off at a suspect before, but that was in that Taliban safe house in Pakistan, remember?"

Danny let out a low whistle. "Fuck, yeah. That got messy."

"_Real _messy. He's got a right old temper, our boss." Micky turned away to hide the smirk that flickered across his face.

Danny squatted in front of the trembling Stobbard and leaned in close, his voice low. "Ya know, there's things he can do to you that won't even leave a mark, mate. And what with you trying to blow him up? Fuck me, Stobbard, he takes that kinda thing _really _personal, know what I mean?" Danny grinned. "But seein' as you're gonna co-operate like a good little boy, you ain't got anythin' to worry about, now have ya?" Danny patted Stobbard's cheek hard twice, the pats more like slaps. "Besides. You got me and Mick to look after ya." Mick turned briefly and gave Stobbard a cheeky little wave. Danny chuckled. "But here's the thing, mateyboy." Danny's smile evaporated and a dark, vicious look clouded his face. "Seeing as we know for a _fact _that you've sold guns to people who've tried their damnedest to kill our mates in the Regiment, you're gonna have to work _fuckin' _hard not to piss us off too, savvy?" He stood up and stretched lazily.

Stobbard slumped. The enormity of his situation washed over him. If this was the lesser of two evils, he could only begin to imagine what Greensfeld would have done with him. Co-operate. Answer every question. Don't antagonise them…

He turned sharply as he heard Granger walk back into the room. Before he could open his mouth, a bucket full of freezing cold, stinking brown water hit him full in the face. The force of the mass of dirty water hitting him knocked him backwards and he lay in a puddle of filthy sludge, gasping at the shock of the blow and the freezing temperature of the water that soaked his clothes, chilling him to the bone. Colby stood in front of him, the last few droplets of water trickling around the rim of the bucket and onto the floor. Colby stared at the soaked man, snorted with disgust and turned away again. "Coffee's ready, boys."

Danny looked at the gasping Stobbard, not an ounce of pity in his eyes. Micky stood up and stretched. "All ready this end. He secure?"

"He ain't going anywhere." Danny smirked at Stobbard and then glanced at his watch. "Four o'clock. Afternoon tea, dear boy!"

Micky grinned broadly. "Oh, I say! Top hole, old chap! D'ya think there's crumpets?" The two ex soldiers laughed heartily and Micky turned to Stobbard one last time. "Don't try buggering off, will you? I mean, by all means, _try_ if you want, but just remember who's in the next room just _itchin' _for a chance to start tearing off body parts, okay?" He jerked a thumb towards the open door.

The two men exited the room, leaving a shaking, frightened Stobbard laying on the floor…

333333

Don flipped his phone open. "Eppes…"

_"Don, it's me. We're at the safe house. All good."_

Don waved towards Nikki, who trotted over. "Get me that Forensics report, Nikki." He turned his attention back to the phone conversation with Colby. "Col, I think I know who the leak is, bud."

"_Who_?"

"Chapman."

_"That slimy little son of a b…"_

"Col, listen. I don't think he's intentionally passing on intel to Greensfeld. I don't think he actually realises that the guy's dirty. But I've got no proof. Nothing. Is there anything Stobbard can give us?"

_"We're letting him sweat for a half hour, Don. I'll start workin' on him in a bit."_

"Make it sooner rather than later, Col. Ian's still wide open."

_"I know. Sorry to pull Doug off that but…"_

"It's okay. Dee's covering Ian's back."

Nikki trotted back to the desk with a file in her hand. Don took it from her and flipped it open. "Okay, we've got something here that might help. The C4 used in that bomb that was meant to kill you came from Eastern Europe."

"_Bud, nearly all C4 comes from Eastern Europe. There and Israel. How's that helping?"_

"This one has a chemical signature that's unique to one specific manufacturer. This particular stuff comes from a factory in Albania, close to the Kosovo border. This guy's been arming terrorist organisations from Northern Ireland through to Afghanistan and East Timor and all points west for the last twenty years. His main agent is, guess who?"

_"Stobbard."_

"Got it in one. Interpol have been watching him for years, but they've had problems dealing with the Albanian security services. But they do know that the manufacturer has recently signed a major deal with an unknown government agency for a huge quantity of the stuff. Trouble is, we don't know who, we don't know where it's gonna be delivered and we don't know why."

_"I'm guessing that's part of our major arms deal Stobbard was putting together. So we can be pretty sure that the C4's heading stateside."_

"Yeah, you're right. But now that Stobbard is in your tender care, Col, that deal could fall through."

_"Nah, man. It's too big for Greensfeld to just walk away. He'll regroup, believe me. Look, give me a few hours and I'll see what I can get from Stobbard. I reckon he's just about ready to co-operate anyway."_

Don flinched at the snarl in Colby's voice. "Colby, I know I said whatever it takes, but remember that we need evidence. Evidence we can use in a court of law, okay?"

_"Don, do you honestly think this is ever gonna get anywhere near a courthouse?" Before Don could reply, Colby's voice took on a reassuring tone. "Look, don't worry, I'll go by the book."_

"Make sure you do, Col." Don's fingers tensed around the phone and he dropped his voice. "But if you have to throw the book out, don't leave any marks, okay?"

There was a moment's pause before Colby replied. When he did, the one word was cold, hard and made Don's stomach knot. _"Understood..."_

3333333

Doug Cross walked into the dilapidated kitchen and sat down on a creaking chair. "All quiet on the western front, boss." He gratefully accepted the mug of coffee Danny passed him and took a mouthful. Doug glanced around the three men, sensing an air of tension in the room. "What'd I miss?"

Colby snapped the phone shut. "Nothin', bud." He stood up, ignoring the untouched Burrito and coffee in front of him on the stained table. There was a look of cold determination in his eyes. "Time to chat to our gunrunner friend, I think." He walked out of the kitchen without another word to his friends.

Micky glanced at Danny, who motioned to his eyes and then pointed at the direction Colby had gone, a deadly serious look on his face. Micky nodded wordlessly and followed Colby into the living room.

Doug turned to Danny, a questioning expression on his face. Danny merely shrugged. "Col's pissed."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit for Stobbard, mate."

"Just get ready to move, Doug. You know how fast Granger is when he gets like this…"

33333333

Stobbard couldn't stop shaking. The freezing water Granger had thrown over him soaked his clothes and they clung to his skin, stinking of sewerage. This wasn't what he'd expected. He'd expected a nice, warm, _dry_ interrogation room in the FBI's building. He'd expected a coffee and a chat. Not this…

Colby walked into the room and grabbed a cracked and broken chair. He slammed it down to the side of Stobbard and grabbed the soaked and shaking man by the collar. With a grunt, he lifted the man up with one arm and dumped him roughly onto the chair. Colby grabbed another chair and slammed it down in front of the disorientated Stobbard and sat down, his eyes never leaving the man. "We rolling?"

"Wired for sound, Col. All ready to go."

A slow smile spread across Colby's lips. "Good. You'll know when to hit pause, okay, Mick?"

Micky answered hesitantly. "Um, yeah. I'll know."

"After all, we don't want anything on tape that might indicate Stobbard's in any kind of distress, now do we?"

"Nope. Absolutely not, boss."

Stobbard glanced nervously over Colby's shoulder at Micky Cox, who just shook his head and pressed the record button on the digital recorder.

"Focus on me, Stobbard. Time for a chat, buddy. You comfy?"

"What?"

"Are you comfy? Not in any pain or anything?"

"Um…no."

"Good answer. Now. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

Stobbard swallowed nervously, the stench of the foetid water in his nostrils, his entire world filled with the vicious smile and cold, hard green eyes of Colby Granger. He knew now why Greenfeld was so afraid of this man. Why he wanted him dead so badly. Granger wasn't just a mercenary with a badge. He was a Federal mercenary with a firm belief in justice.

Justice _at any cost…_

_**TBC…**_


	11. The Coming Storm

Disclaimer

Well, okay, let's start with an apology, shall we? Guys, I cannot express how sorry I am for the delay in this update. I won't bore you with details, but my work schedule has been through ridiculous and out the other side over the past few months. I don't have a '9-5' job, and as I spend sometimes as much as 60-70 hours a week writing for a living, you can imagine that pulling another 5-6,000 words out of my arse at the end of a long week is one hell of an ask, even for me. So thanks for sticking with me and please accept my apologies again for the delay.

Okay, that's the grovelling, snivelling contriteness over and done with, on with the disclaimer. I have no connection with Numb3rs, the cast, crew, writers or producers and have no claim over the regular characters of that SADLY MISSED and much loved TV show (c'mon, CBS, recommission it, you buggers! I mean, really? Season freakin' _ten _of CSI:Miami? _Seriously_?) Anyhoo, while the regulars may belongy Cheryl and Nick, the Brits and the story in this instance are miney, mine, mine and I'll go all Krav on your arse if you say otherwise.

Usual warning for some coarse, very unladylike language and the implication of violence but not quite. This ain't Janet and John, people, suck it up…

Okay, lawyers, is that enough? Oh, right, I see, so you think that's worth £500 freakin' quid of my money to spell check a 100 word disclaimer, do you? Bugger that! *Sacks legal team*

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

33333333333333333333333333333

"Radio check, Ian." Dee settled into the chair and released the button on the squawk box.

"_Five by five, Dee."_

"Copy that." Dee Armstrong sat back and glanced at the monitors. The van was cramped and hot as hell, but she'd coped with much worse in her time. Roaming surveillance was one of her specialities. Direct orders from Colby were to stick to Ian like glue. And that's exactly what she intended to do.

Paul Hunter had taken the call from Duvall a couple of hours earlier. A shrill and almost panicky Frenchman had insisted on the meeting at the parking lot. He hadn't said why, but whatever the reason, the man was obviously spooked by something. They'd set up the surveillance in under an hour and were ready and waiting for the Frenchman to arrive.

On the grainy, black and white screen Dee could see the interior of the underground parking lot. The CCTV hook up gave her instant access to the five cameras that covered the lot, as well as the entrance and exit ramps. God bless modern technology…

Ian glanced over at the van, conscious that Dee was watching every move he and Paul Hunter made. The van was parked discretely in a corner of the lot with half a dozen other cars. A lone van, no matter how 'ordinary' looking always seemed suspicious to those in the espionage business, so Dee had arranged for the motorpool to dump a few of the FBI's more nondescript cars and a couple of other bog standard vans around the place. She'd been meticulous in her approach to what seemed to be a trifling part of the operation – every one of the vehicles had a traceable plate leading back to perfectly 'legitimate' owner's details. The parking tickets were all in order and time stamped and she'd even checked to make sure the tyres weren't even remotely borderline legal. No detail had been left unchecked. Even a closer look would reveal nothing out of the ordinary.

In a strange way, Dee's almost OCD level of attention to detail reassured Ian. He knew how good she was at running surveillance operations and knowing she was watching his back made him feel more confident. And a damn sight less vulnerable than he had been previously. He knew that if it all went south, not only would Dee Armstrong have it all on tape, but that she'd also come out of that van all guns blazing too, if necessary.

It was a shame the same couldn't be said of Paul Hunter. The guy looked distinctly on edge, sucking nervously at a cigarette, his blue eyes darting constantly into every corner of the lot and far too frequently towards the surveillance van. Ian frowned. "Dude, wanna chill a bit? You're making me fuckin' edgy!"

"Sorry, man." Paul took a last drag of the cigarette, dropped the butt and crushed it under his heel. "I'm used to running solo."

"Yeah, well time to remember what it's like to work as part of a _team_, buddy, okay? And dude, seriously, will you _stop_ eyeballing the damn van?"

"Shit, was I? Damn it, sorry, man. Sorry." Paul darted one last nervous look towards the van and then pointedly turned his back on the vehicle to stop himself from 'eyeballing' the wretched thing. "So that's Dee Armstrong then in there, huh?" Paul grinned. "She's kinda cute for a Brit. She available?"

Ian heard a chuckle in his earpiece and flashed Paul a broad grin. "Ya know earlier you told me that you'd heard all about Granger's reputation and how the guy scared the hell outta ya?"

"Yeah? So what's that got to do with anythi…oh…shit_, really_?" Paul stuttered as realisation kicked in. "She's _his_ girlfriend?"

"Yep. Probably not a good idea to make a pass at his old lady, ya know?"

Paul shrugged. "Worth a shot. Hell, I can still _look_, right? Nice ass, that one. Tight enough to fit on a nickel."

"Who, Granger? Whoa, dude, don't let him hear ya say that…"

"NO! I meant Dee! Jesus, Ian, what the _hell_?"

"Well bud, you've been undercover with a bunch of guys for a _long _time and while I'm never one to judge a grown man's personal preferences…" Ian shrugged and his face split into a broad grin.

"You _piss taking_ son of a bitch!" Paul scowled but his eyes twinkled with merriment. The two Marines were both well used to the slings and arrows of outrageous barrackroom banter. "C'mon, Ian, look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't bang her if you got half a chance."

"Who, Dee?"

"Yeah."

Ian let out a short laugh and tapped his ear. "Dude, you _do_ realise that she can hear every word we're saying, right?"

A look of horror spread over Paul's face as once again he was reminded that right now he wasn't flying solo any more, but was part of a well-oiled and very professional team of undercover specialists. Specialist who were _really _good at running surveillance…"Fuck…um, sorry, Dee! No hard feelings, right?"

A cheerful London accent sounded in his ear. _"Nah, mate, no worries. I've heard much worse come out of the mouths of better men than you, old son. Although I'd probably not say that kinda stuff around Colby, if I were you. He's not normally the jealous type but, ya know, there's always a first time for everything…hang on…okay, head's up lads, we've got company. Blue sedan coming in. Single occupant."_

"Copy that." Ian heard the squeal of tyres on tarmac as the blue sedan swung around the corner and into the lot. The car stopped and the lot fell quiet again as the occupant turned off the engine. The sedan's headlights still blazed, flaring out one of the CCTV images in the surveillance van. Dee shrugged and switched to camera two. The lost image wasn't important anyway. As soon as the occupant stepped out of the car, she had a clear view of…

Claude Duvall.

Armed and extremely pissed looking…

"Salut, Paul. Ian." The Frenchman nodded curtly towards them. "Ça va ?"

"We're good, man. We're good." Paul's earlier nervous demeanour had melted away and the guy seemed relaxed, comfortable and back in control. Ian breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"I am glad to hear that. Unfortunately, I?" Duvall shook his head, but his eyes never left the two Americans. "Non, maybe I am not so_ good_, as you say." Duvall walked towards the two men. Something about his body language made Dee's senses scream. She spoke quietly and urgently into Ian's ear…

"_Watch your back, Ian. Something's hinkey here, mate…"_

Ian focussed on the Frenchman, also noticing the tense muscles, the finger curled around the trigger of the Glock in his right hand, the steely cast in the man's laser blue eyes…Dee was right. He had the look of a man who was about to swing that Glock up in the air and start firing without any further warning…

"What's up, boss?" Paul had also noticed the posture and tension in the Frenchman, and he too had heard Dee's sharp warning to Ian.

"It is strange, is it not? That as soon as this man you say is okay appears that things start to go wrong?" Duvall's attention focussed on Ian and he stopped a few feet in front of the man. The Glock was still at his side. His finger was still on the trigger…

"Waddya mean, boss?"

"I mean that what should be an easy, how do you call it, mon amie? An easy _babysitting_ job should suddenly become so very troublesome, n'est pa?"

"Sorry, man. You've lost me."

With a furious snarl Duvall rounded on Paul Hunter. The Glock came up, pointing straight at Paul's chest. "Maybe I have _lost_ you, Paul. Maybe? Maybe I never had you in the first place!"

Paul's faced twisted into a snarl. "What the _fuck _are you jabbering about, you French asshole? And put that fuckin' gun down before you hurt yourself, you prick!"

"You forget who pays your wages, American!" Duvall's own snarl deepened. "You think perhaps that I am just some Frenchman who is not so bright, non? Who cannot see what is in front of him? Huh? Who cannot see that his team has a _traitor_?"

A soft click made Duvall freeze. Without moving his head, his eyes swivelled to the left to see the business end of another Glock pointing straight at him. That Glock was being held by the man he'd employed as a sharp shooter, so he knew full well that the man wouldn't miss.

"_BOLLOCKS!" _In the van Dee passionately swore as she watched the meet develop into a full blown Mexican stand off…

"I might be the new guy around here, buddy, but this ain't how I'm used to doin' business, ya know? So wanna tell me what I should know here?" Ian's voice was soft but full of menace.

Duvall's response was dismissive. "This does not concern you, my friend."

Ian's response was sharp. "Like _hell _it does!" Duvall took his eyes away from Hunter for a split second to spit out a retort to Ian. Paul took that split second. His own automatic was in his hand and pointing back at Duvall in a heartbeat…

"Oh for _fuck's sake_!" Dee watched the stand off go from bad to worse and unclipped her own Browning, ready to burst out of the van doors…

Duvall looked back at Paul Hunter and his scowl deepened as he saw the man was now armed.

"Okay, we all know that when the shooting starts, nobody's gonna win." Ian's voice was quiet and authoritative. "So before you make a mistake we'll all probably regret, why don't you tell us what's gotten you all worked up, buddy?"

Duvall's piercing eyes bored into Paul Hunter. "I know it was you who shot David Sinclair, Paul. I know you're covering something up, mon amie. I _know_."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"That is unclear to me. But I have it on good authority that it was _your _bullet that killed the FBI man. Not his." Duvall gave a curt sideways nod towards Ian. "My contacts are most distressed about this. They are also distressed about the fact that Stobbard has been arrested by the FBI. They are concerned that the entire operation has been compromised. And they also believe that there are undercover agents working on the case. Perhaps _you_, mon amie?"

"Don't be fuckin' ridiculous, you paranoid wingnut!" Paul's voice was sharp. I've been working for you for fuck knows how long! How many times have I had your back, man? How many times have I followed your orders to the _freakin' letter_ in some shithole of a fuckin' operation in the middle of some fuckin' jungle? And _you _were the one who said Ian was okay, not me! What, you questioning your own judgement now, bud? Trying to lay it on me?"

"Do not antagonise me, mon amie!"

Ian could see beads of sweat starting to gather on Duvall's forehead. Shit. This was going south rapidly…

Paul held his ground and when he next spoke his voice was even and calm. "Listen. None of us here are traitors, Claude. You know that. You're just grabbing at straws focussing on the two new boys, right? Bud, in your position, I'd do exactly the same thing. But you know, man, you _know _you're wrong."

"And your contacts know shit, Duvall." Ian's quiet voice captured Duvall's attention. "I took that Fed out, not Hunter. Hell, he couldn't hit a barn door from twenty feet away, let alone make a shot like that! That was all me, buddy. All me."

Paul Hunter immediately picked up on the two pronged assault on Duvall's reasoning. "And who's to say Stobbard hasn't spilled his guts already, huh? Fuck it man, who's to say it wasn't Stobbard _all along _who's been feeding the Feds with intel to cover his own sorry ass? I mean, seriously dude, how well do you really know that English bastard?"

For a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Duvall's face and the nose of his Glock dropped a fraction. Paul immediately picked up on it, and moved in one step. "Look at me, man. _Look at me._ Look me in the eyes and call me a traitor." His gaze locked into the Frenchman's eyes, willing him to ignore the blatant lies and believe his utter bullshit.

It worked.

Duvall's Glock dropped back to his side and he clicked the safety back on. "Bon." There was still an uneasy look on Duvall's face. "I wanted to see your reaction. I am sorry, my friend. But I had to be sure it wasn't you. You understand, yes? I had to be _sure. _You are not the traitor. I know that now."

"You're a fuckin' asshole, you know that? This is the last job I'm doin' with you, man, the _last one!_ After this? I'm _out_, you get that? You can find yourself a new fuckin' patsy to put up with your fuckin' paranoia, you fuckin' cheese-eating surrender monkey!" Paul's voice was sharp and filled with hatred towards the Frenchman. Ian knew it was the after-effects of the adrenaline rush of having a gun pointed at you by a wingnut with a complex. He slowly lowered his own gun, but kept the safety off. Just in case…

Duvall riled at the insult, but managed to keep his temper in check. "That is your choice, mon amie. I hope that you will change your mind. But in the meantime, I have orders."

"From whom?" Paul was still on edge and his gun was still up. Ian walked silently to his side and put his hand on the man's arm, lowering the gun.

"Ease up, man. Ease up." Ian's voice was soft and reassuring. Hunter had talked Duvall down. Now he had to do the same to Paul… Paul lowered the gun but kept his glare locked on the jumpy Frenchman.

"From whom does not matter. The transaction is set for this Friday. We are to be ready to move at a moment's notice."

"But if the Feds have Stobbard…"

"That problem may be a little easier to solve than you think, mon amie."

Paul frowned. "C'mon man, are you telling me we're gonna hit a federal building? That's fuckin' _suicide!_"

Duvall shook his head. "Non, my friend. My contacts tell me that they're not holding him at the FBI's offices. He has been moved to a safehouse somewhere in the desert. As soon as my contact has an address, we are to insert. There will be _no _survivors." Duvall suddenly seemed to regain his air of authority and stood up straight. "Get some rest. I will contact you later tonight. Be ready to move on my say so."

Without another word he turned and walked back to the blue sedan, climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. The underground parking lot echoed to the sound of the engine starting up, and a squeal of protesting tyres shrieked around the concrete structure as the sedan disappeared out of sight.

Ian let out a sigh of relief as Duvall vanished into the LA traffic. "You get all that, Dee?"

"_Every word. I think it's time we shut this son of a bitch down, don't you?"_

Ian scowled. He knew that tone in Dee's voice. Her devious mind was already forming a plan…"What you cookin' up in that twisted little spook brain of yours, Dee?"

"_Yeah, thanks for that, Edgerton, you gunho toting, hoo-ha Marine arse!" _There was a chuckle in his earpiece. _"I was thinking maybe it's about time that we chose the battlefield, mate."_

Ian smiled to himself, ignoring Paul's puzzled frown. "Yeah. I hear ya, Dee. I hear ya…"

333333333

Don sat at his desk and studied the activity in the Bullpen. Bill Chapman was standing in one of the corridors, chattering into a cell phone. Whoever was on the other end of that call was getting a full report of everything that was happening. Don had a nasty suspicion that Chapman was unintentionally spilling his guts to the man who was intent on wiping out half of his team and organising what was looking like one of the biggest arms deals of the decade right in the middle of LA.

Not on his watch, he wouldn't…

Don scowled and beckoned to Nikki. The 'new guy' trotted up to the desk. "What's up boss?"

"Have a little word with Matt, would you, Nikki? Get him to do a phone dump on Chapman's cell."

Nikki frowned. "Don't we need a court order to do that?"

"Then speak to Robin and get one. But…" Don held up a hand and lowered his voice. "Keep it quiet, understand? I don't want _anyone _else knowing what we're doing." He jerked a thumb towards Chapman. "Especially him, okay?"

Nikki nodded. "You think Dee's right about him, boss?"

"I think Dee's right about a lot of things, Nikki, including our friend Chapman. Now go. I want to know who he's talking to. If he leaves this office, I want you on his ass. Where he goes, what he does, who he meets, everything. Understand?" Nikki nodded. Don let a small smile flicker across his face. Nikki had said that she was willing to get 'down and dirty' given the opportunity. Perhaps she might just get that opportunity this time around. "Has Colby called in yet?"

"Not since he spoke to you last, boss. Want me to contact him?"

"No. He's got his hands full as it is." He looked up at the woman. "You still here?"

Don watched Nikki's wild curls bob as she trotted away. Dee was right about her. Rough around the edges, but with the makings of a good agent in there. Just as long as she could learn to think a little bit more before she spoke…

Nikki spoke briefly to Robin, stressing the urgency of the need for the court order and also the necessity of confidentiality. Robin had been her usual short, sharp self, but Nikki knew that Don's fiancé was a superb DA and also had an intimate understanding of how the Violent Crimes team worked. She also knew that Colby's team weren't just 'heavy artillery' but were also a major part of the FBI's counter-intelligence unit. So the need for secrecy wasn't questioned. She'd have the court order in an hour.

A short conversation with Matt had put everything in place to initiate the phone dump the second the court order was granted. Nikki walked quickly back to her booth and pretended to busy herself with a phone conversation, standing in such a way as to be able to see if Chapman made a run for the door. She was determined not to let the team down on this one. If Chapman was dirty, she wanted to be the one to collar him. Four years as an LA police officer had given her a deep hatred of dirty cops, no matter what badge they carried. If she was instrumental in solving this case, perhaps, just perhaps, they'd all stop calling her 'new guy'…

The lift doors pinged open and Dee Armstrong walked in. She signalled to Don and the two senior agents moved silently into a side room. Dee closed the door and turned to face Don.

"Well, _that _was fun."

Don chuckled. "Man, I _hate _when you say that. What happened?"

Dee spent a brief five minutes giving Don a detailed account of the meeting with Duvall. Don listened intently, a growing sense of unease twisting in his stomach. Finally, Dee finished her report and paused. "Listen Don, I know this doesn't look too sunny, but here's the thing. We need to take back control of this situation, and fast. The second Duvall gets Colby's location, he's going in all guns blazing. We need to be ready for him."

"So?" Don's face split into a coy smile and he wagged a finger at Dee. "I _know_ you've got something planned, Dee. I know that look."

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" Dee frowned, but Don could see a sparkle of amusement in her green eyes.

"Because you're a devious, manipulative bitch who likes messing with people's heads."

"And you're a smart-arse who's way to perceptive for his own good, Eppes. And yes. I do have an idea."

"Which is?"

"We leak the location of the safehouse to Chapman."

Don's eyes widened. "Are you _crazy_?"

"Hear me out, Eppes. In that safehouse you have three former members of the SAS and an ex Delta Force nutjob who spent two bloody years working with my lads."

"Does Colby mind you calling him a nutjob?"

"He's strangely proud of the fact that I do. I think he regards it as a bit of a compliment."

"Nevertheless, Dee, Duvall's going to have his own damn army to hit the safehouse with, and while he may be a paranoid lunatic, he's also a damn good soldier. You said so yourself."

"He's a damn good soldier when _he's _calling the shots, Don. But I know his kind. I've seen it enough when we were dealing with the Taliban in Afghanistan. They're great when they've got control of the board, but change the rules and they go to pieces. C'mon, mate. You play chess, right? This is a classic ruse, old son. We let him think he's controlling the battlefield but in fact he's doing exactly what _we _want him to do. Colby's got the lads inside. We get Tim to run the SWAT team outside, allow Duvall to insert and then hit him front and rear. Don't forget, Don, Duvall's also got two snakes in his team. Snakes that are on our side."

"We take Duvall out of the picture and there's a damn good chance that Greensfeld is going to abort the whole operation and melt away. He knows Stobbard's down. If Duvall gets caught too…"

"Don, I'm as concerned about that as you are. But we can't leave Colby and the lads solo on this, mate."

"Agreed.

Dee stood up. "Right then. I'll brief Tim in. You want me to talk to Col?"

"No. I'll do that. Dee? I want you on the SWAT team, sweetheart." Don smiled. "I know it's been a while since you got up close and personal in a fight and I don't want your instincts getting rusty because you're stuck on surveillance or behind a desk all day."

Dee flashed a broad grin at the American. "You cheeky sod!"

Don chuckled. "You _love_ it, you crazy bitch!"

Dee paused and looked thoughtful. "Ya know, that's exactly what Colby said to me the other evening when we…"

"Oh, no, no, NO! I do NOT want to hear this!" Don stuck his fingers in his ears and backed out of the room, trying desperately not to laugh.

Dee shrugged. "What? I was only gonna say when we were surfing a few messy double overheads…"

33333333

Stobbard could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck. Despite the chill from his sodden clothes, his face felt as if it was on fire. The sickening taste of bile tainted the back of his throat and he stared wide-eyed at the big man sitting calmly opposite him. Calm, yes, but with that air of dangerous anticipation. A bit like holding a hand grenade that's had the pin pulled out…

"So. Tell me about Howard Greensfeld." Colby's voice was quiet and level.

"Who?"

"Man, _seriously_? You're gonna play that game with me?"

"I swear, Granger, I don't know who…"

With a small sigh, Colby stood up and moved the chair to one side. "Okay. Fine. You wanna be awkward?"

"Wait! No, please! I…I didn't hear you right. Greensfeld, you say?"

Colby's arms crossed and he stood looking down at the frightened man. Stobbard could see the muscles on his arms straining the fabric of the teeshirt taught across his skin. Muscles that could explode with lethal force in a split second… Colby nodded patiently. "Greensfeld. Howard _Greensfeld_."

"I've never met him."

"I didn't ask if you'd met him, Stobbard. I asked you to tell me _about _him. I dunno, call it…_professional curiosity_, bud."

"I only ever spoke to him by phone. He'd give me instructions to pass on to Duvall and his team or to speak to certain, um, _parties_…"

"Parties such as?"

"Such as you, Agent Granger. Or should I say Jack Higgins?"

"Okay, so he's putting some kinda consortium together. For what end?"

"He wanted to get enough capital from untraceable sources together to pay for a major arm deal. He doesn't have access to that kind of cash himself, so he's basically calling in a bunch of top drawer dealers to front the cash themselves. In return they were all promised a big payout one week later for their initial investment. But…"

"But let me guess. The 'payout' wasn't gonna be a nice fat check and a thank you note with chocolates and flowers, was it?"

"No. Duvall had orders to kill all of the dealers afterwards and make it look like a series of accidents. You included."

"Okay. So Greensfeld is basically ripping off a bunch of gun runners. Why?"

"So that he has the cash to make the deal himself."

"What's the deal?"

"You name it. Plastique, RPGs, grenades, top end light weapons, the lot. Enough to start a freakin' war, mate."

"A war with whom?" Stobbard was silent. Colby sniffed sharply and scowled. Micky's senses immediately went on to high alert. He knew that sniff. Colby's very limited patience was running out…"I _said_ a war with whom, Stobbard?"

Stobbard looked up at Granger. "A war with you, Colby. With the FBI, the CIA, everyone. He thinks that you've gone soft in the years since nine eleven. That you've got complacent. So he intends to arm a group of terrorist cells right across the US in all major cities and orchestrate a co-ordinated attack on federal buildings from courthouses to your own damn offices, mate! Think Mumbai but a hundred times worse!"

Colby stared at the man. "Why? I mean, what the hell does he get out of it?"

"Oh c'mon, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that! Why? What for? For _power_, you moron! He's already got the ear of your president, and the second the attacks happen, he pulls the whole 'I told you so' card and forces Obama to go from being a dove to a hawk with really sharp talons, mate! He's got senators, district attorneys, hell, he's even got the secretary of state in his back pocket! This man's a kingmaker, old son. He want's to be the power behind the throne. And believe me, he can do it."

Colby glanced over at Micky Cox. "You getting all this, bud?"

"Every word, mate." Micky frowned. "But this ain't evidence, Col. This is conspiracy theory nuttery. We're gonna need a lot more than this, mucker. It's basically his word against Greenfeld's. And they ain't gonna believe this toe rag, are they?"

Stobbard looked frantically between the two men. "There's evidence."

Colby's attention immediately focussed back onto Stobbard. "What evidence?"

"I…" Stobbard swallowed and paused. Colby sniffed again and before Micky could react, he had hold of Stobbard's jacket and dragged the man off his chair, pushing him rapidly backwards across the room and slamming him into the wall. Stobbard could feel the big man's grip tightening and lifting him onto his tiptoes, crushing into him and making breathing difficult.

"I _said_…_WHAT _evidence?"

Stobbard stuttered and choked as Granger's grip tightened again. "A safety deposit box! It's in a safety deposit box! Tapes, copies of emails, everything!"

"_WHERE?"_

A feral, desperate look flashed across Stobbard's face. "Safe. It's yours. _IF_ we deal."

Colby paused and studied the man. He knew what sort of person Stobbard was. Smart, cunning and always ready to cover his own ass. Okay. He could play this game too…

"Deal, huh? What kinda deal?"

The previously snivelling Stobbard got his spine back. "Isn't it obvious, Granger? You get the contents of the box, and I walk. Simple."

"I don't think you're in any kind of position to deal, bud."

"I don't think _you're _in any kind of position _not _to, Granger!" Stobbard shot a look towards Micky Cox. "Ask your little soldier boy friend over there. G'on. Ask him. Waddya you think, soldier boy?"

Micky snarled at the defiant man. "I think that Colby should break at least two of your bones for calling me _soldier boy_, you little shit!"

Stobbard let out a short, hysterical laugh. "Oh, yeah, of course, that's right. I'm supposed to be scared of you, aren't I? Ooo! Look at me! I'm a big, scary SAS soldier! Ha! Well, guess what, _mate_? I'm not! Because you might be some meathead squaddie, but you're smart enough to know I'm right, aren't you? So why don't you tell shit for brains here to put me down and start talking fuckin' _sense_?"

Micky stood up slowly and walked over to the pinned man. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Colby and smiled nastily at the man. "Fuck me, Colby, I think the little bugger's finally grown a pair!" He patted Stobbard's face twice. "Well done, Stobbard! Well _done_! Now apologise to the nice man for calling him shit for brains and I'll try and persuade him _not _to tear those nice, new shiny balls of yours off and stuff 'em in your mouth!" The smile melted from Micky Cox's lips and was replaced by a look that sent chills down Stobbard's newly formed backbone.

Colby chuckled quietly. It wasn't a nice chuckle. "Dude, really? You think that talking tough to us is gonna strengthen your position? Seriously man, what happened to good manners, Micky?" Colby turned to his friend who shook his head sadly.

"I dunno, mate. Kids these days, huh?"

Colby nodded. "Yeah. Well, how about a counter offer, Stobbard? You tell us where this safety deposit box is and we keep you alive. You don't?" He shrugged. "Well, then I guess we'll just have to let you go, won't we? But ya know, your friend Greensfeld knows you've been talking to us. How long do you think you're gonna last, buddy? Huh? A day? Two? A week?"

"Twenty bucks says he doesn't make it to sundown tomorrow." Micky grinned.

"Yer on, Micky." Colby smiled and suddenly let go of Stobbard's jacket. The man dropped to the ground coughing and gasping for breath. Colby roughly grabbed the slumped man and spun him around, unlocking the handcuffs. "There we are, Stobbard." The two men stepped back. "Off ya go, bud. And good luck."

Stobbard didn't move. He looked up at the two men, a bemused expression on his face. "You're crazy!"

Colby shrugged. "Well, man, like Micky said, all we've got right now is a bunch of conspiracy theory bullshit. Can't do anything with that, dude. Can't do a damn thing without hard evidence. All I have to do is send that tape over there back to my boss, make sure the _wrong _people hear it and hey! Guess what? Greensfeld knows you've got 'evidence' too! Bet you Micky's twenty bucks he comes gunning for you _personally_."

"Where's the box, Stobbard?" Micky Cox's voice was calm and frighteningly reasonable.

"You really are, aren't you? You're fuckin' _crazy_!"

"Wow, more insults? _Really_?" Colby's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Okay, Micky, this guy's a pile of nothing. Kick his ass outta here. We're wasting our time." Colby turned away and Micky grabbed Stobbard by the collar and hauled him to his feet.

"Upsy daisy, Mister Stobbard. Time to go."

"Wait! Wait!"

Colby stopped and turned, studying the man. "Well?"

Stobbard folded, his brief reacquaintance with having any kind of backbone melting away. "Okay. I'll give you the box. I'll give it to you. Just…please…"

"Please what? Please don't let Greenfeld kill you?" Colby laughed. "Sure! Why not?" He nodded at Micky. "Mick, make our guest comfortable would ya bud? The banks'll be shut now so we'll have to wait until morning to get to that box."

"Copy that, guv." Micky grinned at the broken Englishman. "Fancy a brew, mate?" He chuckled and dragged Stobbard towards the wall. Fixing one link of a handcuff to Stobbard's wrist and another to the solid pipe of a radiator, he patted the man on the head and joined his boss at the door. The two men looked back at the bedraggled man chained to the radiator.

"He's not going anywhere, guv. Suppose we'll just have to rough it tonight, huh?"

"Yep. Hey, at least we'll get a decent night's sleep, though, right? I…" Colby was interrupted by his cell phone chirruping urgently. Colby muttered a curse. "Shit. What now?" He flipped open the phone. "Granger…"

"_Col, it's Don."_

Colby grinned broadly. "Hey Don. Listen, I've got some good news, bud…"

_"Great, because I've got some bad. Well, not exactly bad, buddy, but things are about to get a bit interesting your end."_

"Oh man, I hate when you say that! Okay, what's up, Don?"

Colby listened as Don gave him a full update of the meeting with Duvall and Dee's plan to put a stop to Duvall's orders to find the safehouse and kill them all. Micky watched with increasing concern as an unreadable expression slipped over Colby's face. It always worried him when Colby looked like that. It meant things were about to go south…

Eventually, Colby nodded curtly. "Understood. We'll be ready." He snapped the phone shut. "Micky, get that audio file to Don right now. Once you've done that, join me and the others in the kitchen."

"What's the story, guv?"

"Duvall's gonna insert. And he has orders not to leave anyone alive."

Micky rolled his eyes and sighed. "Triffic. There goes our peaceful fuckin' night then…"

Colby chuckled and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, bud. Tim and Dee are bringing the cavalry. But be prepared for a bit of a shitstorm, Mick. These ain't amateurs we're dealing with. And we need _him_ alive." Colby jerked a thumb towards Stobbard. "Briefing in five. Get that file to Don."

Micky nodded curtly, trotted back into the room and busied himself with his equipment.

Colby walked back into the kitchen where Danny Smith and Doug Cross were enjoying their second cup of tea. Danny grinned and held out a mug to Colby. "Get what you need, guv?"

"And more. Right boys, R and R is over. We've got company coming."

"Friendly?"

"Decidedly not."

"Bollocks."

Colby took a mouthful of the poisonously strong tea and sat down slowly. He hadn't slept for three days. He was exhausted. But he had to stay sharp long enough to prevent Duvall's team from tearing into them and killing everyone in the house.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, finding that Zen-like place where he could picture the possible moves and counter moves of the coming battle. It was up to him to start planning a defence strategy that would keep them all alive long enough for Tim and Dee's cavalry charge to prevent all of them from getting blown to hell and back…

_**TBC…**_


	12. Rules of Engagement

Disclaimer

Righty-ho then, here we go. I was going to make this a real 'things go BOOM, much excitement' episode, but considering the date of publication, I decided against it. Next chapter will have much of the ka-boom, ratta-tatta-tatta that you've come to expect from me, but today, I think that it's only fitting that we all show a little restraint in what has become a dark and scary world.

As always, I have NOTHING to do with N3, the cast, crew or writers of that much loved and deeply missed show and do not profit in any way from writing about our favourite Fedcakes. I DO, however, own the Brits and the story and will challenge anyone who says otherwise to an arse-kicking contest of epic proportions. Please remember before you go down that route that I am surprisingly proficient at the art of arse-kicking, as my Krav Maga Sensei will testify...

Usual warning for strong language.

This chapter is dedicated to the memory of those who lost their lives on 9/11. May you rest in peace. We will never forget that day, and our thoughts and love are always with the families and friends of the victims.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board...

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"We can't let Duvall do this, Ian." Paul Hunter took a sip of coffee, quietly wondering what the hell their next move was. He was used to running solo. Making his own decisions. Carrying the weight of responsibility on his own shoulders. If something went bad, it wasn't just his ass on the line this time. "We have to stop him before he even gets anywhere _near _that damn safehouse. Look, I know your guys are good, but the ATF have been on the inside on this crew for six months. We know how Duvall works. For God's sake, let our guys help you on this. We're ready to move in on the safehouse. So is Duvall. I just don't like the idea of some kinda dumbass Wacky Races situation here, man. Ya know. Who gets out alive depends on who gets there first. That's leaving Granger and his guys way too exposed."

Ian's expression was unreadable, but a slow smile spread across his lips. "Paul, you don't get it, do you? This is all a game of smoke and mirrors, my friend. And if there's anyone who's better at playing this particular game other than Colby Granger and Dee Armstrong, I've yet to meet 'em." He leaned in closer and spoke quietly. "Look man, I know what it's like, okay? I spent God knows how many years running my own way, ya know? Fugitive hunting's a solo trip. But in the past year or so I've learned that this is a _team_ effort, buddy. And right now you're working with the best goddamn team in the FBI, hell, probably the best team in the entire security service!" He sat back, studying Paul closely. "You gotta trust them, man. You gotta. And they've gotta be able to trust _you_." Ian glanced out into the Bullpen, where Don Eppes was talking quietly with the red haired Englishwoman. He jerked a thumb towards the window. "You see those two?"

Paul glanced towards Don and Dee and nodded. "Yeah. What of 'em?"

"When they first met, you wouldn't believe how much they hated each other. I mean seriously, dude, Don was more than ready to pump a few rounds from his Glock into that crazy bitch. But things aren't always the way they appear, Paul. Same as when we all thought Colby was dirty all those years ago. Stuff like that? It makes you re-evaluate your ideals. It makes you understand that there's _always _more to what's going on than you think. Finding out Colby was a triple agent? Seriously dude, I tell you, it damn near broke the team. Then finding out that Dee wasn't some crazy terrorist bitch with a shit-load of grenades and a bucketfull of bad intentions but was in fact one of the _good _guys…" Ian chuckled. "Man, that really messed with a lot of people's heads. Especially when we found out Col and her were oppos and had been for years."

"Do you have a point to this history lesson, Edgerton?"

"My point?" Ian leaned in again. "Look at Dee and Don now, Paul. Look at the body language. Waddya you see?"

"I see two pros talking to each other."

"Look closer. Look _past _the obvious, Paul."

Paul studied the two agents. He could see how utterly at ease Don was talking to the Englishwoman. He could see the focus on both their faces. He could see the _trust_. A slow smile spread across his face. "Okay. I see it."

"And that's what we've _all _got, bud. We work well together. Each of us has a part to play in this particularly twisted little game. It ain't just about catching bad guys any more, Paul. The bad guys have gotten cleverer. Smarter. Which means we have to get smarter too. And that sometimes means…" Ian paused again and took a deep breath. "Well, that sometimes means doing things that don't make any sense. Like being part of an insertion against our own guys. All you have to remember is that she's played this game before, more times than you and I put together. So's Colby. They're running the rules, man. You gotta leave everything else you thought you knew was right at the door and trust them. Okay?" Ian stood up and stretched. He glanced at his watch and nodded. "Time to get out of here, Paul. We're gonna be missed."

Paul nodded. "Yeah. Listen, it's gonna look suspicious if we both turn up together at the crash house. Let me go first, give it an hour, then follow on, okay?"

"Okay."

Paul swallowed the last drops of coffee and stood up. "Ya know, there is one thing I can bring to the party, Ian."

"What's that?"

"The knowledge that things don't always go how you plan 'em man, no matter _how _damn good you are and no matter how much you trust your team." His blue eyes were deadly serious. "I just hope these guys are better than Duvall's men. Because believe me, they _are _good at what they do." He moved in close to Ian and his voice dropped. "_Never _underestimate the enemy, Ian. Even when you're on the inside and you _think _you have the advantage." He patted Ian on the shoulder. "I just hope that Dee and Colby understand _that _particular rule of engagement, my friend."

Without another word, Paul walked quietly out of the canteen and towards the lift.

Ian didn't see the momentary glance that passed between Hunter and Chapman as the ex Marine passed his boss in the corridor…

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"How long will Col and the lads need to set up?" Don poured over every detail of the map laid out in front of him. Next to Diane stood Tim King, his face serious.

"If I know Col, he's already planning some party poppers and streamers to keep Duvall on the left foot. But the more time we can give them to get serious, the better. What do you think, Tim?" Dee looked at the big American. She knew his years of SWAT experience and before that his time on the ground in Afghanistan gave him an excellent eye for the logistics of a battlefield situation. Tim leaned in closer, studying every detail of the USGS topographic map.

"It's a bitch, Dee. We've got open ground on three sides and the hill to the north would give Duvall a perfect vantage point for a grenade attack straight into the middle of the house. Damn, who the hell chose this place as a safe house?" Tim scowled at the map.

"Counter Terrorism." Dee shared a glance with her friend and they both rolled their eyes to the heavens.

"Those fuckers wouldn't know what a safe house was if it bit them on the ass. That high point worries me, Dee."

"Yeah. Me too. Duvall's gonna have the same intel as us, so he'll see that advantage from the get go. Don, does Chapman have the address yet?"

Don shook his head. "No. Ian and Paul do, but I thought we'd wait as long as possible before leaking it to Chapman. Give us as much time to plan as possible and Duvall as little."

Dee grinned at the man. "Good call." She glanced over at the hallway. Chapman was pacing anxiously, barking into a cell phone as usual. "He looks jittery. He's not gonna rabbit on us, is he?"

Don shook his head. "Nope. That guy's under orders, Dee. He's sticking around to find out where the safe house is and then immediately get the intel over to his boss. If he does make a run for the door, Nikki's all over it."

Tim glanced at Don. "Should I be reassured or worried by that?"

Before Don could reply, Dee interrupted. Her response was as sharp as Don's would have been. "Tim, Nikki might grate on your nerves faster than nails down a chalkboard, but if Don thought she wasn't up to the job, she wouldn't be here. Understood?"

Tim grunted, but grudgingly shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as she's not driving me nuts and getting under our feet, I'm happy."

A slow grin spread across Dee's face. "You _fancy_ her!"

Tim looked outraged. "What? NO! I do not!"

"Oh, hell yes you do!"

Don scowled angrily. "Guys? Can we focus here?"

Dee gave Don an apologetic smile. "Sorry Don. Look, I agree with Tim. And I share his concerns about this hill to the north. Duvall's people have got access to some serious hardware. All it would take is one rocket propelled grenade from here," she stabbed a finger at the map, "and the entire house would go up. And everyone inside it. We already know that Duvall's used that method before, up at Pattison's place. There's no reason to say he wouldn't do it again. Minimum potential casualties on his side, maximum damage on the target. In and out."

"But an RPG is no guarantee that all the targets will be eliminated, Dee." Tim sat back on the edge of the table. "His orders are to take out all hostiles, including Stobbard. No survivors. He's bound to do a clean up."

Don snapped angrily. "Can we stop talking about 'targets' and 'hostiles' and 'elimination' please? Remember those are our guys in there!"

Dee turned and her emerald green eyes bored into Don. "Nobody knows that more than I do, Don." Her voice was quiet. "Believe me. _Nobody_. But if we're gonna make sure Colby and the lads come out of this in one piece, we _have_ to keep a clear head. And that means treating this like _any other operation_."

She moved closer and Don could see the deep concern and worry masked behind the cold look. Her words came out from between gritted teeth, and the tension in her jaw gave away just how anxious she really was. "You cannot even _begin _to understand how hard it is for me _not _to go screaming out there, blues and twos going full blast and a P90 in each hand spitting bullets at the bad guys, mate. But before you go round kicking bloody doors in, it helps to know _which _doors to kick, how hard to kick 'em and what might happen if you kick one that's got a fuckin' booby-trap waiting for you on the other side, ya know? Look Don, I want Colby home _alive_. I want him safe. I want Micky and Danny and Doug safe too. Actually? " She ran a hand through her short red hair and for a moment Don could see just how desperately worried about Colby she really was. "D'you know what I _really _want? What I really want is to wake up in bed, cuddled up next to Colby and find out that this has all been some kind of shitty, cheese-eating induced bad _fuckin' dream_. But that ain't gonna happen, is it? It's real, it's happening, and we're dealing with it the only way we know how. Now I'm sorry if some of our terminology makes you feel uncomfortable, Don, but _that's the way we work_. Okay?"

Don laid a reassuring hand on Dee's shoulder. He could feel the sprung-steel tension in her muscles. "I'm sorry, Dee. I guess us civvies don't get the way you military types go at things sometimes, huh?" He smiled gently at her. "We'll get Colby home safe, sweetheart. I promise."

For a split second Dee's anger and gut-twisting anxiety about the man she loved was replaced by gratitude for the affection and reassurance of Don's words. A small, fleeting smile flickered across her lips. "I know, Don. I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. Let's just do everything we can to help Col and put Duvall in cuffs, okay?" Don's fingers flexed briefly on her shoulder and she responded by patting him briefly on the back.

"Okay. Right then Tim, about this bleedin' hill…"

Tim said nothing about the exchange that had just occurred between Don and Dee. He had his own concerns about his friends, especially Colby. But he knew just how anxious Dee was right now about Granger's position. She was right. It was up to them to give them as much back-up as possible… "I can have two teams here and here. If anyone makes a move for the high ground, we'll be ready for them."

Don nodded. "What about the main access road to the east?"

"Too bleedin' obvious. Duvall's not stupid, Don. Come up that access road and you may as well go marching up to the bloody front door and ring the bell yellin' trick or treat. Nah." Dee shook her head. "Duvall'll come in from the south. There's an outhouse here, about fifty yards from the main plot. I'm guessing he'll plan to fire in the RPG from the north, wait for the lads to jack-rabbit out the front and then take out any survivors with cross-fire from the outhouse."

Tim nodded. "The west is the only other insertion point, but it's pretty exposed. Duvall won't pick that route in unless he moves under cover of darkness." Tim glanced at his watch. "That won't be for another two and a half hours yet. By then our guys will be ready for an attack from that direction. No, I'm still guessing they'll make for that outhouse. We can get up close and personal if we insert here. That way we can take out both moves at once before they get a chance to fire a shot, Dee." He pointed to a spot just behind the outhouse. "There's a small ridge right behind the outhouse. That'll protect our guys from behind, just in case Duvall's team tries anything sneaky."

Dee nodded, but a frown creased her brow. "I dunno. That western approach bothers me."

"Dee, we can't overthink this. We haven't got time." Tim looked straight at her. "It bothers me too, but if Duvall knows the lay of the land, he'll see the obvious benefits of that northern high point and the cover the outhouse will give them. We have to assume that's the optimum strategy."

Dee's face was still clouded with doubt, but she nodded. "Like you said Tim, we don't have the luxury of time on this. But I'd like one team coming in from the west just in case. I'll lead bravo team on that approach. You take alpha team and cover the hill. Mark can lead charlie team on the outhouse."

"Sounds like a plan." Tim grinned briefly.

Don nodded. "Okay. Tim, get your people ready to move asap. I want you in position before Duvall has a chance to get within spitting distance of that house. As soon as you guys are in position and Ian's got the head's up, let me know. I'll leak the location to Chapman and then?" Don smiled coldly. "Well, as you guys say. Let's party, people!"

Dee shared another look with Tim. "Bloody civvies!"

Tim nodded, grinning. "Yeah, but if we're gonna have civvies along for the ride, it might as well be this lot, huh?" He laughed, slapped Don on the back and turned out of the war room. Dee gave Don a reassuring wink and followed her comrade, leaving Don alone in the room. He watched the two soldiers prepare for battle, noticing the assertive, confident walks, the set of the shoulders, the sheer, bloody-minded determination to do the job they had trained for all their adult lives. A broad smile spread across his lips. Damn, he had a good team working for him! Now all he had to do was set the ball in motion…

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Ian pulled up a couple of blocks away from the crash house and turned off the engine. He quietly slipped out of the driver's seat and shut the door, pressing the keyfob and flinching inadvertently as the turn lights flashed and the alarm chirruped briefly. Quickly checking that nobody was watching, he started to walk towards the crash house. As he approached, his steps slowed and he frowned deeply.

The house was in darkness.

Duvall's truck was gone…

"Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT!" Ian turned back towards the truck and quickened his pace, breaking into a jog. As he ran back to the truck, a sense of deep unease started to fill him. A sentence came floating back into his mind…

_"Listen, it's gonna look suspicious if we both turn up together at the crash house. Let me go first, give it an hour, then follow on, okay?"_

As he ran, he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Dee, it's Ian. Duvall's gone! They know where Colby is! The leak isn't Chapman! It's HUNTER!"

Ian reached the truck and pressed the keyfob again. He wrenched open the door, and jumping quickly into the driver's seat he slammed the key into the ignition, a rising sense of panic and urgency boiling up to the surface…

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The quiet click of FMP90s and M4 Carbines being checked and rechecked filled the dilapidated kitchen. In a corner, Colby Granger spoke quietly into a cell phone. "Okay, thanks, Tim. See you at the party." He snapped the phone shut and pushed it into a pocket of his flack jacket. Danny and Doug glanced up.

"Everything okay, guv?" Danny knew they were all feeling that tightening and twisting in their guts that, no matter how many times you'd been in combat, every soldier experienced in the moments before all hell brakes loose.

"Fine. Expect a shitstorm, guys. These dudes ain't messin' around." Colby walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, sighing deeply as he did. Doug frowned and paused in his checks.

"Are _you _okay, Col?"

Colby gave his English friend a small smile. "Yeah man, I'm good. Just a little spiky, ya know?"

Doug gave a short laugh. "Mate, that's when you're at your most dangerous. Look Col, we're ready for 'em, okay? We've got Ian and Hunter on the inside, Tim and Dee bringing in the cavalry and we've been down this particular road before. It's a walk in the park, mate. Walk in the park."

Colby glanced over at the confident Englishman. "Dude, _never _underestimate your enemy, okay? This is no walk in _any _park, Doug. These guys are professional soldiers, just like us. They've got the same battlefield experience, they're outta the same playbook as us and they're fresh. Don't get fooled into thinkin' we're dealing with amateurs here, man. That was Tim. Ian and Paul are rejoining Duvall's crew now. They're gonna try and give us as much of a head's up as they can, but make no mistake, this shit's gonna get real. Now. Are we as ready as we can be?"

Doug took his reprimand with good grace. "Perimeter's as secure as we can make it, boss. Tactically, the cellar's the best place to defend against any serious incursion."

"No." Colby shook his head. "Ever heard the expression 'Rats in a trap', Dougie? I don't want to position us anywhere that could leave us vulnerable. The basement's only got one in and out, and all it'll take is a grenade through the vent and we're strawberry jelly smeared all over the floor, bud."

"Upstairs?" Danny pointed upwards. "It would give us a sniper advantage…"

Again, Colby shook his head. "And again with the grenade attack, Dan. I don't fancy burning to death or getting my ass blown off trying to exit via an upstairs window."

Doug looked around. "Well, this room's out. Gas line. Things go boom. Much excitement." He pointed at the stove and grinned. "Been there. Done that."

Colby nodded. "Agreed. Shit man, who in the hell picked this place as a frickin' _safe _house?" He let out a humourless chuckle. Jesus, it's about the most _un_-safe goddamn safehouse I've ever been stuck in!"

"There is an alternative, mate." Micky Cox wandered into the kitchen with his usual sardonic grin on his face. "Don't worry, boss, audio file's been sent to Don and matey-boy's whining like a little bitch about how much the handcuffs are chaffing his wrists."

Colby let a small smile flash across his face. "Good. He's lucky he hasn't got the damn things clamped around his balls. Okay Mick, what's your idea?"

Micky shrugged and pointed out of the window at an outhouse fifty feet to the south of the house. "Who says we have to be in the bloody house _at all_?"

Colby's smile split into a broad grin. "And _that's _why I love workin' with you guys!"

Micky shrugged again. "Learned from the best, mate. Ya know." He tapped the side of his head. "Weren't it you what said to always think _sideways_?"

Colby let out a shout of laughter and clapped Micky on the shoulder. "Dude, you're the most sideways son of a bitch I know! Okay guys, let's get moving. Remember, anything we can think of, so can they. Dee and Tim reckon that Duvall's gonna go for an RPG from the north."

"I _knew _that bloody high ground would come and bite us on the arse at some point!" Doug cursed quietly.

"Tim's gonna have two reception committees waiting for them on either side of the hill. Trust me Dougie, they won't even get the firing pin out before they get ambushed by our boys. They also think that the clean-up spot for any stragglers after the RPG will come from the outhouse. If we get there first it could get up close and personal, but at least we'll be waiting for them. I wanna make sure we divert Duvall long enough to take him down without too much of a fight. Danny, you and Doug make it look as if we're still in the house from the outside. Let's keep Duvall off balance for as long as possible."

"I'll line up a few surprises as well, just in case the bugger goes all Curious George on us." Danny grinned at Colby.

"Fine, but remember we've got two friendlies coming in with them as well. Our primary objective is distraction, not elimination, okay?"

"Copy that." Doug and Danny immediately started pulling out flash-bangs, trip wires and a host of other what the team often referred to as 'toys' from the holdalls on the table.

Colby turned to Micky and pointed at the outhouse. "Right then. Let's see what our options are, bud. Grab some kit. We may as well start setting up over there. For all we know, Duvall could be on his way right now. Come on."

Colby and Micky turned and jogged out of the house, scanning the surrounding desert landscape as they exited to make sure Duvall hadn't got the jump on them and was already in position. The evening sun was turning the desert into a tapestry of gold and bronze hues. They had an hour at the most…

Colby eased the creaking door of the outhouse open and peered into the gloom. Ignoring the cascade of dust that tumbled down over his shoulders and head, he ducked below a low beam and into the building. Micky, just one step behind, let out a low whistle. "Shit Col, this place has got more holes in it than one of Danny's condoms! They won't need a grenade to persuade this place to fall over, mate. One of Dougies farts would take the roof off this place in a heartbeat!"

"Well then, we better make sure Dougie isn't suffering from gas, huh?" Colby grinned at his friend. "Mick, we don't need the place to protect us from a tank-buster, man. We need it to give us a few seconds to…"

The chatter of an automatic weapon made both men drop down into the dirt with their hands over their heads. A swarm of bullets raked through the side of the building, punching holes through the rotting wood and letting pinpoint shafts of evening sun dapple the floor and sides of the outhouse. Colby rolled and scrabbled in the dirt, ducking behind a rusting old pickup truck that stood in the middle of the shed. "SHIT! THE SON OF A BITCH'S EARLY!" He looked around desperately for Micky. "MICK!"

"BASTARD! FUCKIN' SNEAKY FRENCH BASTARD! He's come in from the WEST! FUCKER!" Micky's furious cursing reassured Colby that his friend was not hurt…well, not enough to stop him cussing, anyway… Keeping low to avoid the angry whine of bullets overhead, Micky scuttled towards the pickup truck and slid the last couple of yards on his belly, flipping over and scrabbling up into a crouched position next to Colby. "What the _fuck_, Col?"

Another furious blast of gunfire made them duck again, keeping them hunched over as the glass in the pickup trucks' windows shattered and rained down on their exposed heads. Micky swore again. "How in the HELL did they get here so fuckin' fast?"

Colby flinched and ducked again as more gunfire ripped gaping holes in the fragile wooden walls. "Fuck knows! They shouldn't have been here for another two fuckin' hours! Don hasn't even told Chapman where we are yet!"

Micky scowled furiously at Colby. "Well who the hell else knew we were here?"

"Nobody! Just us, Don, Dee, Tim, Ian and Paul Hunter…" Colby stopped in mid sentence. A dangerous look darkened his green eyes. "Hunter. Fuckin' HUNTER! That double crossing son of a BITCH!" He scrabbled in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

Micky watched him anxiously. "Dear God _please_ tell me you've got some bars!"

Colby stared at the screen of the phone. Just one weak bar showed. A signal, but not much. He prayed to whatever God was in charge of cell phone signals it would be enough… He hit speed dial 1 and pressed the phone to his ear. Dee… "C'mon baby, pick up, please! Pick up!"

"_Colb…I…can't hear….Col…by…" _Dee's broken and crackling voice cut in and out…

"DEE! WE'RE TAKING FIRE! DEE! CAN YOU HEAR ME? _DEE!_"

_"COLBY! Hunte…dirty!…Ian's not with…he's been cut out…Colby, can you hear…I said, Hunter's dirt…Colby!_

The phone went dead…

"SHIT!" Colby hurled the phone across the outhouse, ignoring it as it shattered into a thousand pieces...

Micky Cox was waiting for a lull in the hail of bullets that sang overhead. He popped up from behind the truck and let off a burst of his own from the M4, hoping fervently that at least one of them would find a mark. His efforts were rewarded with yet another furious barrage of bullets. He dropped back down and stared at Colby. "They've got us pinned, mate!"

"Yeah, and we're on our own until the cavalry gets here! They've cut Ian out and Hunter's lead them straight to us!"

"Fuck!"

"Mick, we can't stay here. We've gotta get back to the house. We…"

For a second there was silence. Then the two men heard a high pitched whistle and an accompanying whooshing sound. Both men's eyes widened in horror.

Colby knew that sound. For a second, he wasn't in an outhouse in the Mojave desert. He was back in Kumar. That wasn't Duvall shooting at him. It was a Taliban insurgent. And he knew. He _knew_ what was coming. He knew that sound _so well_…

"_**INCOMING!"**_

Both men leapt to their feet and sprinted for the door…

_**TBC…**_


	13. Soldiers of Misfortune

Disclaimer and grovelling apology

Okay, welcome back from our two-month hiatus. Thanks for sticking with me and apologies go out to everyone who waited patiently for an update. No, I didn't die/lose interest/get kidnapped by aliens/have my fingers cut off in an horrific and unlikely chainsaw incident. Simply a matter of an extremely busy work period that left me drained, burnt out and unable to kick the muse into any kind of action. Minesweeper will be updated in the next week or so, so thanks and apologies once again for the delay.

As always, I do not have anything to do with Numb3rs and have no rights or claim over the regular characters. The Brits and the story, however, are mine and there'll be a cherry-bomb in the toilet of anyone who says otherwise.

Warning for some pretty graphic violence, cussing and general nastiness this episode, so if you're of a nervous disposition, easily offended or don't know what 'buggerlugs' means, what the HELL are you doing reading this stuff? Oh, and additional warning for one character going a bit soppy at one point that'll have you going, "Blimey! Who'd've thunk it?"

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board...

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The RPG punched through the fragile wood of the outhouse and slammed straight into the side of the rusting old Chevvy pickup truck that had been decaying in the centre of the building for years.

Time seemed to stand still.

Colby ran like he had never run before. His boots pounded into the dirt, sending up clouds of dust in a trail behind him. There was no sound, no sense of space or time. Nothing except the thought of being as far away as possible from the explosion he knew was coming filled his mind. He couldn't think about Micky and how far away he was. He couldn't think about the bullets that sang past his head like angry bees. Just run. Run for your _life_…

Events caught up with time and the RPG detonated, igniting the dilapidated Chevvy in a fireball that lifted the roof off the outhouse. The roof seemed to hang in space for a second and then collapsed back down. Shards of lethal shrapnel spat out in all directions – deadly wooden javelins with the power to punch through a body as easily as a hot knife through butter. Pieces of red-hot Chevvy screamed into the air, the jagged and torn edges of the metal twisted into grotesque shapes that would slice off a limb or even decapitate anyone or anything that lay in their path.

Colby felt the punch of the explosion hit him from behind like a truck. He launched himself forward, dreading the landing. This was gonna hurt…

As he hung in the air like an acrobat, one last thought flashed through his mind. _Dee__…_

Silence flooded in. From his vantage point, Duvall had seen the two men running from the building. He had seen the grim determination in both men's eyes. They were soldiers. They knew. They knew that gut-wrenching fear that every soldier, no matter how battle hardened they were, had in moments like this. When the only thing you could do was run. When all your training, all your experience, all your skill counted for _nothing_. It was down to sheer luck if you got out in time. Duvall sat back on his heels and lowered the RPG, a vicious smile on his lips. The fireball was still raging in front of him.

In front of the inferno lay two spread-eagled figures in the dirt.

They were motionless…

Duvall signalled to his Filcher that it was time to turn their attentions to the house and finish the job. Gunfire was chattering from the windows in the front of the property, but the angle was completely wrong. The British soldiers had no line of sight and were firing blind. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby… Slowly and deliberately, Duvall started to load another grenade into the launcher. Two grenades coming in at opposite positions would ensure that nobody got out of that house alive.

It almost felt like cheating in a way. He preferred the thrill of hand to hand combat – seeing his enemy's life drain out of their eyes up close and personal. He had been known as '_La__ Lame__' _or 'The Blade' in his native Marseilles; quite a feat in a city that had a reputation for violence and knife crime. His skill with a blade was almost akin to a surgeon's, and he derived a strange, sickening pleasure from watching his victims bleed to death slowly in front of him. He would have liked to have killed Granger one knife-slice at a time. The man was a legend with a reputation of his own for ruthless efficiency. It would have been an interesting contest. But unfortunately, sometimes necessity is the mother of invention, so alternative, more brutish methods were required this time. He would go down and check the bodies later. With luck, Granger would still be alive and he could satisfy his bloodlust at his leisure.

Now, he had other fish to fry. The two remaining Englishmen and that snivelling little worm Stobbard were to be eliminated. The voice at the end of the phone had been very clear about his orders. Nobody was to be left alive. _Nobody_. Duvall and Filcher ignored the prostrate figures in the dirt outside the devastated outbuilding and turned their attentions towards the house. Duvall slotted the grenade into its cradle and turned forty-five degrees to his left. Hoisting the weapon onto his shoulder, he looked down the sighting line towards the house. No point in aiming for the upstairs – the gunfire was coming from the ground floor. He steadied his breathing and his finger curled around the trigger…

A brief yelp caused Duvall to spin around. Beside him lay the very dead body of Filcher lay in the dirt, his head at an obscenely twisted angle. Duvall's eyes widened and he dropped the grenade launcher, fumbling for his sidearm.

He was too slow.

A vision of hell reared up behind him. Covered in dust and blood, two vivid green eyes bored into him. The dirty-blonde hair was matted and darkened with blood that ran in rivulets down the man's face and cheek. The combat uniform was torn and ragged showing the bulging muscles of the man's arms underneath, blood-soaked and grimy but tensed like coiled steel.

_Granger…_

Colby's face turned into a vicious snarl. Duvall could see that killer look in the man's eyes. He knew that Granger was running on adrenaline and nothing else. That made him practically unstoppable…

Before Duvall could react a massive fist had slammed into his upturned face. Duvall felt his nose shatter under the blow and the force sent him sprawling backwards into the dirt. In the blur and confusion he could hear the background chatter of automatic weapons. His second team were assaulting the house and, by the sounds of it, meeting with some resistance. But right here, right now, there was only the hellish figure of Colby Granger filling his world. His eyes teared up from the agony of the broken nose and he could already feel the swelling start to constrict his sinuses. He scrabbled with his right hand towards the side arm at his side and yelled in pain as a boot slammed down onto his hand and ground his fingers into the jagged rocks underneath. Granger towered over him, looking down at the prostrate Frenchman, utter fury and hatred in his green eyes. Over his left shoulder Duvall could see another hellish figure, his face smeared with dirt and blood. Micky Cox stood slightly to the right of Granger, a Browning 9mm cradled in his hands and an equally vicious look in his icy-blue eyes. There was no mercy in either man's expression.

For a second, no man moved. Granger looked down with utter contempt at the man under his feet and then slowly drew his A1 from his back holster. Duvall stared at the business end of the pistol. Its cold, steel profile filled his world. In all his years of soldiering, he had never been this close to death. It terrified the soldier of misfortune…

A slow, lazy smile spread over Colby's face as he saw the bravado and confidence drain from Duvall's face. It would be _so__ easy _to finish this right here, right now…

But that would be murder. Cold-blooded murder. It would make him no better than the rat that lay underneath his boots. Duvall, still focused on the snout of the gun, heard a soft voice. "You're under arrest for the attempted murder of federal agents, several _actual _murders, gun trafficking and simply because I _don__'__t__ fucking __like __you!_ You do not have to say anything, you French son of a bitch, but anything you do say can and _will _be used in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you, as long as I don't decide to lose the paperwork and just let your stinkin' ass _rot __in__ some__ fucking __hellhole _of a prison for the rest of your goddamn life." Colby crouched down, his face still contorted into a vicious snarl. "Do you _understand_, you piece of shit?" Duvall felt the A1's cold steel nose press against his temple. "Or do I have to _repeat __myself_? I can say it in French if you like…" That smile flashed across Granger's face again. He was enjoying tormenting the Frenchman. Behind him, Micky Cox chuckled quietly.

Duvall swallowed nervously and nodded. Some of Granger's blood dripped onto his face and he winced as he felt it splash onto his skin. The man was hurt. He had been close to the explosion when it went off. Duvall had seen him lying lifeless in the dirt. Yet here he was, standing over him like a cat standing over a mouse and toying with him. Tormenting him. Damn it! _NEVER_ turn your back on your enemy, even when you think they're dead in the dirt!

Granger grabbed the prostrate Frenchman with one hand and flipped him over as easily as if he were a rag doll. Duvall grunted as the dirt filled his mouth and bloodied nostrils. He felt Granger's boot on the back of his neck and his arms being roughly pulled behind his back. The metal handcuffs snapped shut tight on his wrists and he lay motionless. Offer no resistance. Don't give Granger another excuse to unleash one of those massive fists again…

Colby stepped back and swayed slightly, dizzy from the exertion. The tank of adrenaline that was keeping him upright was damn near empty and his vision began to tunnel. He felt a hand on his shoulder and a soft London accent in his ear. "Easy, big guy." Colby turned towards the concerned face of Micky Cox. The Englishman was as dirty and as bloodied as he was and he could see that Cox was also nearly on his knees with the effort. Colby shook his head and tried to clear his vision.

"We've still got work to do. Keep this asshole covered. If he moves?" Granger glanced at the Frenchman and snarled again. "Kill him."

Micky nodded. "What are you gonna do, Col?"

Colby glanced to the ridge behind the house. "Doug and Danny are sitting ducks, Mick. If Duvall's people launch a grenade at the house, they've got no chance. And those bastards won't be expecting someone to come up behind them, will they?" Colby flashed a brief grin at his friend, bent down and picked up the loaded grenade launcher. "Let's see how they like a taste of their own fuckin' medicine, shall we?" Another burst of automatic fire caught their attention. Colby frowned and slung the RPG over his shoulder. "I don't have time to wait for the cavalry, Mick." He patted his friend briefly on the shoulder, turned and trotted away.

Micky watched his friend disappear in the fading twilight and grinned. "You're a fuckin' nutter, Granger!" Cox chuckled quietly and then stared down at the still-prostrate Frenchman. "Ya know Duvall, if you're gonna try and kill someone, you really should be a bit more subtle about it." He crouched by the man and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head sharply up. Duvall grunted with pain and swivelled his eyes around to meet the icy stare of the Englishman. Cox's smile was the second-nastiest thing he had ever seen. Cox brought his face close to the Frenchman's and snarled. "And if you're gonna try and kill Colby _Granger_, you better make a decent job of it, mate. Because all you've done now is _piss __him __off_!" Micky slammed Duvall's broken face back into the dirt, the sound of another bone in the man's nose breaking somehow deeply satisfying. He tucked the Browning into his belt and smiled again. "And have a guess on a scale of one to pissed where my head is right now, you dirty, cheese eating surrender monkey!"

He grabbed the Frenchman, spun him onto his back and clenched his fist. Duvall watched in horror as Cox's shoulder muscles bulged, telegraphing the massive punch that was about to head his way. With his arm drawn back and the punch primed, Micky grinned savagely at the man. "It's just you and me now, Frenchy. And it's _poundin__' __time!__" _The fist barrelled towards Duvall's face…

The mercenary team on the ridge hadn't seen Duvall's capture. The raging inferno had been enough of a distraction to keep them focused away from the open ground and on the house, where two semi-automatic rifles cracked from downstairs windows. They hadn't seen the two figures scrabble back to their feet and sprint towards Duvall's position. They had no idea that their boss was currently getting the beasting of his life from a furious ex-SAS soldier and trying not to choke on his own blood. And that a very angry American with a grenade launcher was heading their way...

Paul Hunter didn't know what to do. He lay on the ridge, shooting back at the house but carefully avoiding aiming for the muzzle flashes that would have given him an easy target. Beside him, Pearce and Carroll were shooting furiously at the house, peppering the thin wooden walls with bullets. Carroll briefly turned to Hunter. "Get that RPG ready! Let's finish this!" Hunter nodded and dropped his rifle. He scrabbled backwards towards the kit and pulled out the RPG. One grenade in that wooden shack and the whole thing would go up just like the outhouse, incinerating everyone inside. He had to do something and fast…

He fumbled with the launcher, trying to stall for time, trying to think. Carroll glanced back furiously. "What are you waiting for, you asshole! Fire the goddamn rocket!" Carroll turned back to the house, his automatic spraying a fresh burst of bullets into the house. Hunter came to a decision. It was time to blow his cover. He couldn't allow this to carry on any more… With a sigh he dropped the RPG back onto the dirt and turned, his Glock already in his hand and cocked. Without stopping to think he squeezed the trigger and watched as the back of Carroll's head exploded in a shower of blood and brains. Moving the gun slightly to the right he dispatched Pearce as quickly and as emotionlessly as he had Carroll. The two sharp cracks of the Glock brought the noise and chaos of the firefight to an abrupt end…

"DROP THE GODDAMN GUN, HUNTER!" Paul spun around and stared into the face of the Devil himself. Granger, bloodied, battered and just about at the end of his rope had his own A1 pointing directly at Hunter. Paul could see the RPG slung over Granger's back…and the fury in the man's eyes. Granger wasn't open for negotiation right now…

Paul dropped the Glock and raised his hands. "I'm sorry, Granger. I couldn't stop them…"

Colby moved quickly towards Hunter and spun him around, kicking him in the back of his knees and holding on to his collar as the man dropped into the dust. Colby risked a glance towards the two lifeless figures of Pearce and Carroll and frowned. He had watched Hunter execute them in cold blood in front of him. Until that moment he had believed Hunter was the traitor. But now? He didn't know what to believe. The fog of shock and blood loss was blurring his ability to think clearly. He sniffed sharply and blinked, trying to focus. "Keep your hands behind your head, Hunter. Make one move and I'll kill you, understand?"

"Colby, I swear to you I'm not gonna move, okay?" Paul laced his fingers together behind his head and tried to stay as still as he could. Granger was extremely dangerous right now and he wasn't going to make the mistake of antagonising the man in any way. "They brought the raid forward. There was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn't warn your people, Colby. I think Duvall suspected me and wouldn't let me out of his sight right up until we got here. Granger please. For God's sake listen to me! I'm not a traitor!"

"Ya know, right now I've had just about enough of listening to people, buddy." Colby snarled and raised the A1.

"Colby, please! Listen to me! List…" The butt of the A1 landed on the back of Hunter's neck, polaxing him and sending him sprawling in the dirt. He was out cold. Colby staggered backwards, stumbled and sank down on his knees. His head spun and he could taste the bile rising in his throat. The blood loss was beginning to take its toll and the needle on his adrenaline reserves was pointing to 'empty'. His vision darkened and he slumped slowly forward, face down in the dirt. For a brief moment he could feel the cool desert breeze against his skin and an almost peaceful sensation overwhelmed him. Unconsciousness came as a blessed relief…

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"_Colby__…__Colby,__can__ you __hear __me?__Colby!__" _

Colby slowly opened his eyes. All he could see was a blurred figure illuminated from behind by flashing lights. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision. Gradually, blurs became more focused and the anxious faces of Dee and Don stared down at him.

Don turned his head and yelled into the darkness. "WHERE THE HELL IS THAT MEDIC!" He looked back, his deep brown eyes filled with concern. Carefully he wiped a smear of blood away from Colby's eye. "Easy, big fella. Just lay still, okay? Just lay still."

"Don…" Colby tried to speak but it came out as a hoarse croak.

"Will you shut up, CJ! Just do as you're bloody told for once, will you?" Dee's London accent was sharp, unable to mask the concern in her voice. She stroked his hair, cradling the back of his head in one hand. Colby stared up into her emerald green eyes and tried to smile reassuringly.

"I'm…okay…"

"Colby, you're not okay. You're hurt." Dee frowned. "Seriously, love, you look like crap. So please. Just lay still and do as you're told." Dee's voice cracked slightly, and Don laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She was probably one of the toughest women he'd ever met. But when it came to Colby, her gentler side came out and he could see how shaken she was seeing the man she loved laying bloodied and bleeding in the dirt. Running feet behind them heralded the arrival of the medics and Don stood up, gently moving Dee out of the way so that they could tend to Colby's injuries. But as Don moved, Colby laid a hand on his arm and with every last ounce of strength he had, spoke slowly and carefully.

"Hunter…he killed the two mercenaries." Colby nodded towards the dead men. "He…he said he wasn't the traitor…Don, I believe him…" Colby's hand went limp and his eyes closed again, the effort of talking draining any energy he had left. The medics moved quickly to his side and began working on the now-unconscious man.

Don gently led Dee to one side. "Dee, you okay, sweetheart?" Dee didn't answer. Her attention was on the medics as they worked on Colby. Don wrapped his arms protectively around her and held her close for a few seconds, gently embracing her and stroking her hair. "He's gonna be okay, Dee. He's gonna be okay."

For a brief few seconds, Dee allowed Don to comfort her. Then, just as quickly, Don felt her muscles tense and she stood back, a dark cast in her eyes. "I know. He's a tough old bugger. Few scratches, that's all. He'll live." She sniffed sharply and gave Don the briefest of smiles.

Don grinned back at her and nodded. "Of course he will. And I promise not to tell anyone that you went all girlie and let your emotions bubble to the surface for a second back there, okay?"

Dee stared at Don. "What emotions would those be, then?" The stare challenged Don to respond and he laughed quietly. He'd finally got a handle on the woman's bone-dry sense of humour. She knew perfectly well what he meant. For a few seconds she had shown her softer side, her more human side, the caring side that Don knew was an important part of her personality. Normally hidden behind a cool, almost cold exterior, Dee Armstrong was in fact a warm, funny and caring woman. But after 14 years in the British Army as an officer in one of the toughest regiments in the world, 'getting all weepy and unnecessary' was something that Dee made every effort to avoid, especially in front of others. He knew that she was still worried about Colby, as he was. But she also knew that they still had a job to do…

Dee turned to the seated figure of Paul Hunter, who was holding an icepack on the back of his neck. He glanced up and met her stare. "Your boyfriend's a bit too goddamn handy with a sucker punch, lady." Paul frowned and winced as his fingers brushed against the tender bump on the back of his head caused by Colby's earlier pistol-whip.

Dee stared coldly at the man. "Yer lucky. I'd've just shot you, you little fucker." She glanced over at Don. "He's all yours. I'm gonna go and have a chat with our French friend. Well, what's left of him, that is. Micky did a right old number on him and personally? I can't say I blame him." Before Don could respond with a rebuke, she held a hand up. "I will, of course, give him a damn good talking to about it, Don. Can't have my lads going all slap-happy on him like that." She winked and turned back to Colby. The medic moved aside for her and she crouched by his head, stroking his hair gently. "Hey, baby."

"He's unconscious, Agent. But he's stable. We'll get him to County General as soon as the Medivac helo lands." In the distance Dee could hear the melodic thump of rotor blades as the medical emergency helicopter approached. The medic smiled softly. "We'll take good care of him, ma'am. I promise."

Dee nodded silently and gently bent over Colby, kissing his forehead tenderly. She straightened up and looked again at the medic. "Make sure you do." Without another word she stood up and walked down towards the house…

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Micky Cox sat quietly on the chair, patiently allowing the medic to clean some of the blood away from his face. He looked up as Dee entered the room. "How's Col?"

Dee frowned furiously at Micky and tapped the medic on the shoulder. "Could you give us a minute please? Thank you." The tone of her voice didn't invite debate and the medic moved away quickly. Dee grabbed a chair and sat down opposite Micky. "What happened, Mick? And if you say house go boom, much excitement, you won't need a paramedic, you'll need a fuckin' surgeon to extract my boot from your arse, understood?"

Micky didn't smile. He nodded slowly. "They hit us just before dusk. Came in from the west. Colby and I were checking out the outhouse. We knew we'd be sitting ducks in the house so we thought that being somewhere else would be a good idea. Unfortunately, Duvall thinks sideways too, Guv. He must've seen me and Col go into the outhouse. Peppered us with automatic small arms and then?" He shrugged. "House go boom. Much excitement." He paused and for a moment looked smaller and more vulnerable than Dee had ever seen him before. "Seriously, Guv, I really thought our tickets were punched. We heard that RPG coming in and we ran. We ran for our fuckin' lives, Dee. For a second I thought…" Micky paused again and his head dropped. Dee laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Without looking up, Micky carried on talking. "For a second I thought I was back in Helmund." He looked up, his blue eyes filled with pain. "I didn't know _where_ I was! All I knew was we had to get the fuck out of there. Shit man, I haven't had a flashback in six fuckin' _years_! But this? The desert? Shitty little tin fuckin' huts and some son of a bitch firing an RPG at ya?" His voice cracked. "It's _bollocks_, Dee! I'm too old for this shit!" His head dropped back onto his chest and Dee could see his shoulders shaking.

She put her arms around him and held on to him for a few moments, knowing the shock had finally hit him hard. "It's alright, Mick. You're gonna be fine, mate. Look at me. Head up, soldier. Look at me." She placed a finger under his chin and tipped his head up. "It's okay to feel like this, Mick. You've just been through hell and back. And yeah, I know this sounds rich coming from me of all people, but it's okay to be scared, mate. That's what keeps you alive." She smiled gently at her friend. "And we're here, Mick, we're all here. Just about in one piece. Admittedly, a little buggered up, but we're _alive_, Micky. And that's thanks to you, mate. You did a good job out there tonight. Only bad guys died."

"Col?"

"He's hurt, but he'll live."

Micky nodded. "I though he was gonna kill Duvall for a moment. Christ, Guv, it would've been _so _fuckin' easy to kill that bastard!"

"But it would've been the wrong thing to do, Mick. We both know that. So does Colby." Dee sat back and grinned. "However, I _did_ hear that he took a bit of a pounding. I take it he _resisted __arrest_?"

Micky heard the emphasis Dee put on the last two words and grinned. "Oh, yeah. Resisted like a bugger, so he did."

"So that would explain the multiple injuries and the face like a pizza that's been stamped on, would it?"

"Yep."

"So I take it that no excessive force was used during his detention?"

"Nope Guv, none at all."

"Good answer, Micky. Make sure that you never use excessive force. I'd hate to think that there was any kind of personal vendetta being settled. You know. For him blowing you up and all."

"Understood, Guv."

"Consider yourself well and truly bollocked, Cox."

"Considering myself bollocked Guv."

"Good man. Now. Where is that French bastard?"

Micky grinned. "Why?"

Dee gave him a frighteningly cold stare. "Because I want to make sure that he's not offering any further resistance. Obviously."

"Obviously, Guv." Micky nodded towards the kitchen. "He's in there. Danny and Doug are making sure he's not resisting. At all. I think they're poking him with a stick if he does. Quite a sharp stick, going by the noises he was making just before you got here."

Dee looked thoughtful. "Has he been co-operating?"

"Nah. Just keeps babbling in French. Why?"

Dee looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled nastily. "When your phone rings in a minute, play along, okay? And answer in Spanish."

Micky looked quizzically at his boss. "Guv?"

"Just play along."

"Okie dokie."

"What about Stobbard?"

"Took a bullet in the shoulder and cried like a fuckin' Marine. Feds carted him off in a meat wagon."

Dee frowned mockingly at Micky. "Michael Cox, I do not want to hear you ever disrespect the fine name of the Marine Commandos again. Am I clear?"

Micky grinned mischievously. "I didn't mean _our _Marines, Guv!"

Dee scowled at Micky and then turned to the medic who was hovering in the doorway. "Sort this toerag out." She jerked a thumb towards Micky. "And make sure you give him plenty of injections. He _hates_needles."

Micky's eyes widened in horror. "Guv?"

The medic grinned at Dee. "Ma'am, it would be a _pleasure_."

Dee smiled. "I noticed your tattoo. You're ex military?"

The medic's smile turned just a little chilly. "Yes ma'am. _US__ Marine__ Corps._" Dee and the medic both slowly looked at the bruised and battered Micky Cox, who was suddenly realising that his smart-arsed quip was coming back to haunt him.

Micky sighed and watched the still-smiling ex-Marine medic advance towards him. "Oh, _bollocks__…"_

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In the kitchen, the beaten Duvall sat cuffed in a chair, his bloodied face buried into his chest. Danny and Doug were on guard, watching the Frenchman like a hawk. They glanced up as Dee walked into the room. "Mick and Col okay, Guv?" Doug stood up and cradled his M4 Carbine in his arms like a baby.

"They've had better days. But they'll live. A former US Marine Corps medic is currently torturing Micky and Col's been evac'd out. You two alright?"

"Yeah. Froggy's mates were shite shots. Didn't even break any bloody plates."

"They managed to hit Stobbard. How did that happen?"

"Stray bullet, Guv. Just one of them things."

"That stray bullet could've buggered up the entire operation if it'd gone through his thick head instead of his shoulder, you pillock! Your orders were to make sure nothing happened to Stobbard, Doug."

"Sorry, Guv."

Dee sighed and ran a hand through her short, red hair. "No matter. The little shit's alive, so no harm, no foul. Just make sure you keep the primary in one piece next time, lads, okay?"

Danny nodded. "Understood, Guv. Matey-boy here's been yelping on about a solicitor. Says he won't say shit."

Dee smiled coldly. "So?" She shrugged. "We don't need this little oik anyway. We've got Stobbard and he's ready to sing like a fuckin' X-Factor contestant." She stood in front of Duvall and smiled nastily. Duvall slowly raised his head and looked up at the woman standing in front of him. Diane Armstrong. Her reputation preceded her. Duvall knew exactly whom he was talking to. And he knew she would show him no mercy. A sudden wave of defiance filled him and he sneered at her.

"What is the worst you can do, bitch? Huh? You work for the Americans. This is not one of your silly little interrogations. I know who you are, madame. You do not frighten me. You are just some pathetic little girl who gets all her boys to do her bidding because she is not strong enough to do it for _herself_!"

"Oh fuck me, you've done it now, buggerlugs!" Danny whistled quietly. "She _hates_ being called that!"

Doug turned to his friend, a puzzled look on his face. "Hates what? Being called a bitch?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, mate." He jerked a thumb at the Frenchman. "He called her a _little__ girl_. Last bloke who did that got his arse-cheeks blown off when she dropped a cherry-bomb in the latrine just before he took a dump. Messy. _Verrrry _messy." Danny wiggled his eyebrows at Doug and grinned. "Light blue touchpaper, stand well back…"

Dee stared coldly at the Frenchman and then a slow smile spread across her face. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a cellphone. Dee dialled a number and pressed speaker so that everyone could hear the conversation.

_"Ola…"_

"Michel? Ola my Colombian friend. It's Dee Armstrong."

_"Dee! How lovely to hear your voice, bella dama! It's been too long! How are you?"_

"Oh, I'm peachy, mate. Peachy. 'Ere. Are the Colombian authorities still looking for Claude Duvall?"

_"That French bastardo? Oh si, sí, todavía estamos buscando para él. Why? You know where he is? Because we would VERY much like to speak to señor Duvall."_

In a voice that was barely a whisper, Danny turned to Doug frowning. "That don't arf sound like Coxy putting on a dodgy Spanish accent, mate…"

"Shh…" Doug gave an almost imperceiveable shake of his head and glared at Danny.

Dee smiled at Duvall. "Oh, _isn__'__t _that a happy coincidence? They're still looking for you! How fortunate! Well, I might just be able to help you with that, old friend."

Duvall started to shake. The Americans might imprison him, put him on trial and even lock him up for a few years. The Columbians wouldn't be so generous…

Dee chuckled quietly. "I take it that the paperwork for an _official_ rendition might take a while wouldn't it?"

_"Ah, you know the wheels of justice can turn slowly in Colombia, Dee. Sometimes it takes months. But for Duvall? We make an exception. I can have the paperwork ready in three hours."_

"Well in that case, may I suggest that you take a quick trip to the Mexican border? A couple of my lads fancy popping over to pick up some authentic tequila tomorrow and they're taking a friend with them. A friend you might like to talk to."

_"Ah, Mexico. A wonderful country. So close to your United States border, yet in a different world! What are your friends' names? I'll make sure they get the best tequila Mexico has to offer."_

Dee looked over at Danny and Doug and winked. They grinned back. "Danny Smith and Doug Cross. You can't miss 'em. They'll be the ones complaining loudly about how they can't get a decent cup of tea for love nor money. I'm sure you'll recognise their friend." She looked at Duvall, that nasty smile still on her lips.

_"I look forward to it! Thank you Dee!"_

"Oh trust me,it's my pleasure. Love to Maria, mate"

_"And my regards to Colby. Adiós, Dee!"_

"Adiós, Michel." Dee snapped the phone shut and smiled. "There ya go, Duvall. You ain't my problem anymore. Lads? Get this scumbag out of here and deliver him to the Colombians. You know the drill."

"Yay! Road trip!" Danny grinned.

"I call shotgun!" Doug patted Duvall on the head. "You're travelling in the boot, mate. Prob'ly won't be that comfy. Danny's got this uncanny ability to find every pothole in the road and hit it with astonishing accuracy."

Duvall looked panicked. He knew what awaited him on the other side of the border. "No! Wait! You cannot do this!"

"Can't do what?" Don stood in the doorway.

Dee turned and smiled. "Just removing a problem, Don. Seems the Colombian authorities have first dibs on Duvall. Apparently the paperwork's all in order."

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Nah, look Don, this pillock's just a gun for hire. He knows sod-all. His orders came from Stobbard. He's way down the food chain."

Don frowned. "He's still got crimes to answer for in the US, Dee."

Dee took Don by the arm and moved him out of Duvall's earshot. "Don, that call I made was to Micky in the other room. Just play along, will you?"

A look of realisation spread across Don's face and he smiled broadly. "You are one evil bitch when you wanna be, you know that?"

"So sue me." She turned back to the sweating Duvall who was watching Danny and Doug throw their kit into a bag.

Duvall folded. "Wait! I tell you! I tell you everything!" He looked at Don. "You cannot let them do this to me!"

Don shrugged. "Sorry, buddy. If the paperwork's in order, there's nothing I can do. Have a good trip." He turned to Dee. "Full report on my desk in the morning, okay?"

Duvall stared wildly around the room. "Non! Non! Please! I tell you! I tell you the name!"

The four agents stopped and stared at Duvall. Dee moved in closer to Duvall. "What name?"

"The name of the man who gives the orders! The man in Washington! I know who he is!"

Dee leaned in close, her green eyes boring into Duvall. "Who?"

Duvall swallowed nervously. "Carpenter. Howard Carpenter."

Don's eyes widened. "Carpenter? As in the Secretary of State for _Defence? _Are you out of your fucking _mind_?"

Duvall sat back in his chair. "Non, mon amie. I am very much in my mind! I know. I have met him. And if you protect me, I will testify against your secretary of state. Protect me against her and I will give you everything you need to bring him down."

Dee turned to Don,an astonished look on her face. "Never mind bring him down, Don. This could bring the entire fuckin' _government _down…"

"Jesus!" Don leaned back against the doorway and ran his hand through his hair. His day had just got a whole heap worse…

_**TBC…**_


	14. A few more minutes

Apology and Disclaimer:

Greetings all! Firstly, yet again another apology for the monumental delay in updates. Work has been RIDICULOUS and to be honest, I really haven't had the inspiration to write recently. However, I have made it my New Year Resolution to make more time for my own creative writing, and that includes my FF work. So yes, we are **_back_**, baby!

This chapter is really to get my head back into that 'special place' where I can find inspiration and motivation to start work again, so it's a bit of a 'filler', but I thought it would be nice to take a little break from the main story-arc and explore the back story of Colby and Diane a bit. We'll be back to the main story next chapter and, ah, what the hell, I might even blow some sh!t up just for the hell of it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little wander down memory lane.

As always, I don't have anything to do with the cast, crew or writers of Numb3rs, but the Brits and the story are all mine.

Cue credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

3333333333333333333333

Colby lay in that blissful state between sleep and waking. Everything seemed so far away, so distant, so…blurred…

The room was quiet except for the regular bleep of a heart monitor. David sat silently next to the bed, watching his friend. He'd done this too many times. He never told Colby how much it twisted him up inside to see his best friend hurt like this. Granger seemed to have a complete disregard for the value of his own life, and when he woke up, David was determined to tell the son of a bitch _exactly_ how he felt this time! "You gotta stop doing this to me, brother. You really have gotta stop doing this, man." David's voice was a mere whisper. He didn't want to wake Colby just yet – the painkilling drugs they had pumped into him had completely knocked the poor guy sideways. He had tried to explain to them that Colby's inability to tolerate certain types of painkillers was such that it could cause him to hallucinate badly. Inadvertently, the hospital's attempts to make the injured man more comfortable had resulted in Colby slipping in and out of consciousness and, by the looks of it, dreaming intensely…

David bent forward as he saw Colby's eyelids flicker and he carefully stroked the man's hair back from his forehead. "Easy, big guy. Easy…"

The gentle whoosh of the surf breaking on the beach was always a soft and comforting sound to wake up to. Colby loved it here. The beach house had become his home – a _real _home he never thought he'd ever have. A home with a woman he loved more than life itself. A woman he had been destined to spend his life with from the moment he first met her in the middle of one _hell _of an operation all those years ago. He let his mind wander back to that first time. That first time he'd seen _her_…

_It had all started in Kunar Province... _

Granger. Captain. Colby John. Bravo Zulu two zero three three one seven one. Attached to CID as a cover, but in fact working as an intelligence officer for Delta Force. Colby had spent more time behind enemy lines than the damn enemy had. He'd shown a natural aptitude for covert operations and his linguistic abilities and sheer ferocity in combat had marked him out to be of particular interest to some very important people in military intelligence. As the war ground relentlessly on, it was quite clear that the usual rules of engagement weren't working. They had to play the Taliban at their own game. And that meant going dark.

The darkest, most covert bastards of the lot were the Brits. While the regular troops worked openly alongside their American counterparts, there were sections of the British Army that were never seen socialising with the 'squaddies', who came in and out on unmarked heelos, wore no insignia and rarely stayed for more than a few brief hours on base. He'd seen one of the grey, unmarked helicopters land at the Forward Operating Base one day and a group of figures climb out, their faces hidden behind sunglasses and caps, no sign of rank, regiment or even whether they were civilians or not on their clothes. He'd watched the team unload light kit bags from the 'copter, and noticed one of his British friends from the Parachute regiment watching them too. Colby had wandered over to Steve, his eyes never leaving the team by the helicopter. "Hey bud."

Steve had nodded in response. "Wotchya, Granger."

"So who are those guys, then?"

Steve had turned to him with a grin. "The Taliban's worst nightmare, mate. That's the Hereford crew."

Colby had frowned. "What?"

"The 22nd, mate. Her majesty's very own arse-kicking bastards, the SAS." Steve had chuckled. "Someone's about to have a _really _bad day, Col. That's Armstrong's lot."

"Armstrong? As in _Captain _Armstrong?"

"The very same, old son." Steve jerked his head towards the group. "See the slightly slimmer figure on the left with all the curves in the right places? That's her."

"Really?" Colby studied the tall, muscular woman intently. "Man, I thought she was like, some kinda seven foot uber-soldier, the way you guys talked about her!"

"Do what?"

Colby stared blankly at his friend. "I thought she'd be taller, bud."

Steve chuckled merrily. "Dude, what she lacks in seven foot uber-soldiery-ness, she more than makes up for in groin-twisting, eye-gouging ferocity, mate. She trained in Krav Maga with the Israelis, she's a Ninjutsu and Aikido black belt and I _promise_ you, you do _not _wanna get involved in a bar fight with her. Not _ever_. Especially if it involves two dwarfs, a lap dancer and half of the Dusseldorf Police department." Steve grinned broadly at his American friend.

Colby stared in disbelief at his friend. "Man, I _so _wanna hear _that _story!"

Steve laughed heartily and slapped Colby on the shoulder. "Mate, I'll tell it to you some time over a beer, okay? But right now?" He jerked a thumb towards the 'Hereford crew'. "Their presence means that something bad is going to happen to some buggers who probably richly deserve everything they get. Count on it." Steve chuckled again and wandered off, leaving Granger staring at the SAS soldiers in the distance.

For a brief moment, Captain Armstrong had paused and slowly turned her head directly towards Granger. Her eyes, hidden by the black wraparound sunglasses she wore, nevertheless seemed to bore into Granger's own eyes and down to his very soul. He felt the colour rising in his cheeks. She was looking straight at him, studying him intently from behind those pitch black glasses. He suddenly felt very exposed and, embarrassed at being caught out by the woman, looked away quickly. He decided that retreat was the better part of valour and jogged away after Steve, determined to find out more about the two dwarves, the lap dancer and the Dusseldorf Police department…

Captain Armstrong watched the big American jog off across the base and chuckled to herself quietly. Her attention was rudely brought back to the here and now by a large and very heavy black kitbag hitting her in the chest. She grabbed it just in time to stop it falling to the ground and spun around, glaring angrily at a grinning Gary Parks. "Wakey wakey, guv! You with us here, or are you checking out the local talent?"

"Bollocks, Gary."

Gary Parks laughed heartily. "Point 'im out to me guv, and I'll do some reccy work for ya."

"Parks, I suggest you sleep with one eye open tonight, you cheeky fucker." Armstrong shot the heavy kit bag back at Gary, attempting to catch him unaware. He caught it deftly and grinned.

"Always do, guv. Always do…"

333333333

_A remote part of the Afghan/Pakistan border…_

Colby crouched behind the wall, waiting for the go. The unit had been dropped in under cover of darkness and had made their way to the village on foot. This far behind enemy lines, the Taliban thought that they were relatively safe and hadn't bothered to mine the road into the village with IEDs. Nevertheless, the intel had warned of potentially fierce resistance once they were inside the village and to proceed with extreme caution.

This was about as 'black ops' as it got. They were across the border by about twenty clicks and were very much 'on their own'. If they were caught this far into Pakistan's territory, it could cause a major international incident. But they needed the intelligence that they knew was being kept in the safe house, and that meant taking risks that carried with them an element of 'plausible deniability' if they were caught. They wore no insignia, the kit had all been carefully adapted so that it didn't have any indication of being US or UK military issue and all of the team members had been chosen for their particular covert ops skills. Colby was working with Bravo team. He knew Alpha team had already got into position and, quite possibly, were already inserting into the rambling old building.

The target had once been an old Maharaja's summer palace. The marble opulence had long since disintegrated into crumbling ruins, and much of the building was a mere shell – a dilapidated echo of its former glory. Colby's fingers tensed around the grip of his M4 Carbine as he waited, trying to stop the pounding in his heart from becoming so loud it would give away his position. It was always like this, no matter how many times you went on a mission. Those last few seconds, when the slightest thing could give you away…when a shout meant discovery and the possibility of a short and probably terminal firefight… His mouth was as dry as the desert around them. He knew that his team were poised to go in, but the interminable waiting seemed to drag on forever…

_"Bravo team…go, go, go!"_

No sooner had the final 'go!' crackled in his ear than Colby was over the wall and scuttling towards the insertion point. He saw dark, fleeting figures flitting across the open ground that surrounded the crumbling palace. A second figure, crouched double and moving surprisingly quickly, dropped down next to him and briefly he looked into the camouflaged face of Micky Cox. The British SAS soldier flashed a brilliant grin at his friend and nodded upwards towards the open window. Micky held up three fingers and counted down. Three…two…one…

The two men popped up like jack-rabbits and the noses of the M4 Carbines pointed through the window. The fat noise reducers on the end of the barrels muffled the crack of the shots to an almost inpercievable 'thump' and for two Taliban soldiers, the war was well and truly over. Micky hopped through the window, closely followed by Granger. A brief nod and the two men split up, moving in opposite directions down long, dark corridors lined with doors and side rooms.

As Colby silently crept along the corridor, he knew that throughout the house his comrades were doing the same. A silent sweep of the house, any resistance was to be met with deadly, but _quiet_ force. The object was to avoid raising the alarm for as long as possible. Get to the primary target, grab, and get the _fuck out _before the drone strike came in…

In the distance Colby could hear a rapid conversation in Punjabi. He spoke several languages, but couldn't understand what was being said. All he knew was that there were at least two, possibly three unfriendlys ahead of him…

A hand reached out from a dark doorway and clamped around his mouth. With surprising force, he was pulled back into the shadows and before he had a chance to struggle he felt himself pinned against a wall. Inches from his face a pair of intense, emerald-green eyes bored into his own. His captor had a finger pressed to their lips in a wordless and urgent signal to stay silent. He held his breath and stayed statue-still as three Taliban warriors wandered past their hiding spot, chattering in a mixture of Pushtu and Punjabi. The voices faded into the distance and Colby heard his captor let out a quiet sigh of relief. The soldier chanced a brief glance into the corridor, their hand still clamped across Colby's mouth. Colby gently tapped his captor's hand and raised an eyebrow.

"Bugger. Sorry." The voice was soft and tinged with a strong London accent. It was also female…

Captain Diane Armstrong took her hand away from Colby's mouth and flashed a brief grin at him. "Sorry 'bout that, twinkle toes, but you were about to walk smack bang into our friends there. Nice going." She kept her voice to a mere whisper.

Colby grinned and whispered back. "Thanks for the save."

Armstrong nodded briefly. "You must be the Yank."

"You must be the chick."

Diane raised an eyebrow, but Colby could see a twitch of mirth pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Hmm. I see you've been spending far too much time with Micky Cox. Remind me to kick his fat backside when I see him."

Colby suppressed the urge to chuckle and merely grinned at her. "Will do. Right now…"

"…Yes. I know. We have work to do. We're here to cover your arses. So I suggest you drag yours that-a-way, old son." Armstrong pointed down the corridor. "Third door on the left. Hope you're as good a safe-cracker as they say you are, Granger."

Colby grinned again. "Sweetheart, put it this way. If I wasn't such a morally upstanding, apple pie eating, all-American guy, I'd make one hell of a criminal!" He winked cheekily at Armstrong and was instantly gone, disappearing into the shadows.

Armstrong watched the big American silently vanish into the gloom. She smiled quietly to herself. Granger was exactly what she had expected. Gary Parks had spoken very highly of the man, and coming from him, that was good enough for her. If Gary trusted Granger, then so did she and every other member of her team. She pressed her comms and whispered quietly into the mike; "All units, stand by…"

Colby darted into the doorway and saw the safe at the end of the room. He trotted silently over to it and crouched down in front of the heavy door, placing his M4 Carbine on the floor next to him. Scanning the lock, he could see that the dial was worn and sloppy. This should be a breeze… Slowing his breathing, he fished out a stethoscope that he had commandeered from a member of the Medical Corps. Pulling out his comms earpiece and popping in the stethoscope, he pressed the 'scope against the lock. It was old-school, but on an ancient safe like this it was still the best way to open it quickly and without too much fuss. He focused on the sound of the internal tumbler as he slowly turned the dial, waiting for a distant click inside…

Behind him he heard an indistinct noise. Instantly the M4 was back in his hand and he spun around. Staring at him was a dark-skinned man, brown eyes wide and mouth open, ready to shout the alarm. A short, sharp 'pop!' behind the man stopped the alarm call dead, as his throat filled with blood, choking off any cry or shout of warning. A red stain spread slowly across the man's chest and he toppled forward, dead before he hit the ground. Standing behind him Colby could see the business end of a muffled Browning 9mm and, further up, two green eyes shining like emeralds in the gloom. Armstrong flashed a grin at the surprised American. "Get on with it, Granger, we haven't got all bloody day, you know!"

Colby breathed a sigh of relief and grinned back. When she said she had his back, she really meant it… He turned back to the safe and worked quickly. Within a few seconds, the creaking, rusting lock gave a final click and he felt the handle shift under his grip. The door creaked open and inside were piles of documents, a couple of remote hard drives and piles of computer discs.

Colby stuffed the stethoscope back into a pocket and grinned. "Jackpot!" He pushed his comms earpiece back into his ear and started pulling out the contents of the safe and stuffing them into his rucksack.

Armstrong chuckled quietly. "Blimey. You _are_ good, you bloody crim! Three guesses what career you're going into when you get discharged, you bugger!"

"Nah. I'm already earmarked for law enforcement, honey!" Colby grinned at her and zipped up the rucksack. "Right then, sweetheart." He stood up and slung the rucksack across his back. "Ready to get out of here?"

"That seems like a good idea, seeing as your lot are about three minutes from blowing the fuck out of this entire compound." Armstrong turned away and then paused. "Oh, and by the way..." She turned back and stared intently at Colby.

"What?"

Diane Armstrong walked silently up to Colby and stood in front of him, mere inches away from his face, her intense green eyes boring deep into his. "Call me 'sweetheart' or 'honey' one more time mate, and I'll make you wish you'd _never fuckin' _met me, crystal?"

Colby gasped as he felt a vice-like grip clamp around a _very _sensitive part of his anatomy. His mind flashed back to his conversation with Steve…"_What she lacks in seven foot uber-soldiery-ness, she more than makes up for in groin-twisting, eye-gouging ferocity, mate…" _Colby swallowed nervously and nodded – _carefully_. "Yes, ma'am!"

Diane grinned. "Adda boy, Granger." The grip relaxed and Colby breathed a sigh of relief. "Now. Shall we?" She waved towards the door, flashed one last grin and was gone…

33333333

The intel they'd brought out of the Taliban safe house had made life in Kunar Province a whole lot easier for Colby's buddies on the ground. As a result of some of the information he'd recovered, they'd located and destroyed at least six strongholds and pushed the insurgents further back into the mountains. Supply lines had been cut to two major Taliban outposts and although the war was by no means over in that part of the world, it had certainly taken a turn for the better for the troops on the ground.

They had got back to Forward Operations after a brief but bloody firefight. Drones had taken out the last remaining pockets of resistance and the villagers never even realised that the Unit had been in their mist.

Colby had been congratulated on a job well done and received yet another commendation. Coming out of the CO's office he had noticed a tall, red-haired woman sitting alone, leaning against a brick wall. She seemed to be simply relaxing in the sun. Dressed in desert issue combat trousers and a plain white vest top, the woman's muscular, athletic figure was clearly visible. She didn't seem bothered by the dust that covered her boots and trousers, and the blue smoke from a cigarette was doing an admirable job of keeping the flies away from her. Colby stared at the woman for a moment. It was the first time he'd seen Diane Armstrong properly in daylight, without a coating of camo facepaint or the cover of darkness. She wasn't the usual 'pretty' dolly bird that most troops went for, but there was something about her presence that drew Colby towards her like iron fillings to a magnet...

He casually strolled over and stood in front of the woman. "Ma'am…"

Armstrong looked up at the man standing in front of her. "Wotchya, Granger. Do you mind?" She indicated that he should move slightly. "You're standing in my sun spot. We don't get much chance to catch any rays in Hereford. Rains most of the bloody time."

Colby laughed quietly and stepped to one side. "Sorry. You should watch yourself, though, swee… Captain." He stopped himself just in time… "That sun's real strong. It'll burn you to a crisp before you know it."

"Thanks. I'll remember to pack the bleedin' Ambre Solaire next time, shall I?"

Colby chuckled quietly and then paused. "Listen, um, thanks."

"For what?"

"For watching my back the other day."

"My pleasure, old son."

"No, I mean it, Captain."

"Call me Diane." She gave Colby a warm smile. "Or Dee. Anything except _sweetheart_…"

Colby laughed. "Yeah, that was pretty damn misogynistic of me, wasn't it?"

Diane stared, wide eyed at Colby and then let out a shout of laughter. "Bloody hell, Granger! That's a flamin' big word for an American grunt!"

Colby grinned back at her. "Nah. I've got a degree and everything! No, really! I know all kinds of big words!" The smile melted away for a second. "But still, I was outta line back there. I'm sorry."

Diane laughed again. "Don't worry, old son. I've been around bloody squaddies for a few years now. Trust me. I've heard a lot worse back in Barracks."

Colby chuckled and plonked down next to her, feeling the warmth of the sun-baked bricks on his back. "So what the hell is a beautiful woman like you doing in a shit-hole like this?" Colby felt strangely relaxed with the Englishwoman. It was quite clear that she was intelligent, witty and surprisingly easy going for a British Army officer.

"Yer doin' it again, buggerlugs."

"No I'm not! I just kinda wondered because I thought your lot didn't let women do front line duty."

"They don't, normally."

"Huh?"

Diane grinned. "I don't think they've realised I'm a woman, mate. As soon as they do you can bet your arse I'll be RTU'd and back doing a nice, safe job teaching twats to drive."

"I…you what?"

Diane re-lit the last remnants of the cigarette and took a pull. "I was originally INT 14. Intelligence Corps. They thought my skills would come in useful for the 22nd so I got attached to the mad bastards." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, as it happens, I've got very attached to 'em. They're a good bunch of lads." She ground the dog-end of the cigarette under the heel of her boot. "Anyhoo, as you can imagine it hasn't been exactly easy to hold my own with this lot. But they've kind of got used to me now, and after I kicked a few of their arses in combat training and proved that I could shoot as good as they can, they've sort of taken to me." She shrugged. "I still go back to INT 14 when I'm not on duty with the 22nd, and there?" She shrugged again. "I teach fuck-wits to drive. It's a two-week training course and if you don't pass the driving test, you don't get in to the regiment. We also teach people like the Royal Protection Squad and Special Branch how to do evasive and high speed pursuit driving."

"So you're a _driving instructor_?"

"No, you sod! I'm an intelligence officer! I just…happen to be a bit of a petrol-head, that's all." She stared at Granger. "And you can bloody talk! You're supposed to be 'CID' and there's you cracking safes like a pro!"

Colby grinned. "It's a long story."

"Really. I'd like to hear it."

"Only if you tell me about the two dwarves, the lap dancer and the Dusseldorf Police Department!"

Dee stared at Colby blankly. "Who told you about that?" Colby merely grinned in response, and Dee glowered back at him. "It was _one _dwarf and she wasn't a lap dancer, she was a bloody _pole _dancer!"

"Who, the dwarf?"

"What? NO!"

Colby burst out laughing. Dee chuckled and then laughed heartily too. It may have been one of the strangest conversations Colby had ever had with a woman. But for some reason it felt completely natural to be sitting here, in the middle of a dusty, hot Forward Operations Base in the middle of Kunar, swapping stories with a tall, red-haired woman and laughing…when all around you was going to hell in a handbasket. Who the hell knew if they'd even be alive tomorrow? But right now, at this moment, she was the centre of his world. They spent the rest of that afternoon sitting in the dust under a baking sun, swapping stories, laughing and, for a brief few moments, trying to forget the horror of the war, the killing, the stomach-twisting fear and the stench of death…

As the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the distant mountains, the unmarked helicopter took off in a cloud of dust. Colby watched it lift off, shielding his eyes from the flying grit. He smiled as the nose of the heelo dipped and it peeled away and off back towards Kabul. Somehow he knew…he _knew _he'd see her again…

3333333

A soft breeze rustled the white curtains, sending them billowing and flapping like sails. Colby lay listening to the surf as wave after wave rhythmically broke on the sands – the heartbeat of the planet pumping life and light into his very soul. Contented and warm, he smiled to himself. Sounded like a good day to catch some waves. After breakfast, he'd suggest it to Dee, knowing that she loved any chance to pull on a wetsuit and break out the Fish 5-8 as much as he did. For a Brit she wasn't a bad surfer, and the sound of her bright laughter as she watched him wipe out on a gnarly backdrop always made the indignity of losing his normally sure footing on his own Fish 6-1 a little more bearable.

The bed was warm, soft and far too comfortable. Maybe a few minutes longer…just a few more minutes of blissful dozing before Dee came in with a cup of coffee, a soft smile and a gentle kiss on his forehead…

The sea breeze smelt of salt – a clean, refreshing scent that…for some reason this morning also seem to have a sharp tang of disinfectant to it…

As consciousness crept over him, Colby started to realise that the comforting whooshing of the surf was in fact the sound of his own blood pumping around his body and roaring in his ears. The warm, soft bed felt strangely unfamiliar. He frowned, his eyes still closed, and shifted his position slightly.

The sharp, knife-like stab of pain made him yelp and he gasped, clutching his side, wondering what the _hell_…

"Hey, easy Col, easy!" A concerned voice that _definitely _wasn't Dee cut through the fog of semi-consciousness. He felt a hand on his shoulder…not Dee's hand…

Slowly, his green eyes flickered open. A blurry outline of a figure loomed over him and he flinched, confused. This wasn't the beach house. The light was too bright, too harsh, too…clinical? Colby blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him. Slowly, features appeared and the frowning, serious face of David Sinclair materialised.

"David?" Colby's voice was a cracked, dry croak. What the hell was David doing here? And where was Dee? In fact, where the hell _was_ here? He felt a rising sense of panic spread up from the pit of his stomach…

"Take it slow, Col. You're gonna be okay, but man, whatever they gave you knocked you out for a loop, bud. Just take it slow, brother." David frowned deeply, watching his friend like a hawk. Colby was currently whacked out of his head on meds. He knew that his best friend had always had an extreme sensitivity to pain killers, and that in fact there were several that his body couldn't tolerate at all. He didn't know why, but he did have his suspicions that it had something to do with his time in the Army. Colby had never talked about it, but he'd looked on the Internet for himself. There were rumours that many of the troops had been given cocktails of drugs to 'combat the possible effects of biological warfare' that had left many vets deeply affected for the rest of their lives. Jesus, Colby wouldn't even take asprin if he had a headache, so god alone knows what kind of an effect the morphine-based pain killers they'd pumped him full of a few hours earlier were having on the big guy. Colby was utterly confused, and David knew how much that frightened him. His friend hated that 'goddamn outta control feeling', as he called it, and a frightened, confused Colby was _never _a good thing…

Colby, ignoring the wave of pain that punched into him, sat up suddenly, ashen-faced. He blanked his friend and looked down at the IV drip in his arm. The clear plastic pipe phased in and out of focus, but he could feel the uncomfortable scratch of the needle in his skin. Get it out. Get it out…_NOW. _His right hand scrabbled at the sticking plaster holding the drip in place and he focused all his attention on it…

David laid his hand over Colby's frantic fingers, gripping them firmly. "Colby, Colby look at me, _look at me_, bud! It's okay, Col, it's okay! Colby!" The sharpness in his voice grabbed Colby's attention and he suddenly looked straight into his friend's gentle, brown eyes. David could see the confusion in Granger's green orbs. "It's _okay_, bud. You're in hospital. You're in County General, Col. C'mon, brother, just lay back, will you? It's _okay_…" David's gentle reassurance pushed the sensation of panic back down and slowly, Colby's fingers relaxed around the drip. David kept hold of his friend's hand and, ignoring the stab of pain from his own gunshot wound, carefully but firmly pushed Colby back down onto the pillows.

Colby lay back, his gaze fixed on his friend, trying to work out why David was here…why he was here. What had happened? Where was Dee? Slowly, his eyes closed again…

"David?" Don's voice was filled with concern. He walked quickly into the room and put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "How is he?"

"Out of it, Don." David sat back with a sigh. "What the hell did they give him?"

"Diamorphine."

"Shit man, you _know _he can't handle that stuff!"

"I know that, but they didn't, David. I've spoken to them. They're pulling his medical records now to see if they can try and counter the effects of it, but I think it's simply a case that we'll have to wait and let it work its way through his system." Don looked down at the silent figure of Colby in the bed, noticing how tense the muscles in his arms and shoulders were. His injuries weren't life-threatening, but by pumping him full of a drug he had an adverse reaction to, the hospital had unwittingly made things worse. Don knew that Colby would probably be 'out of it', as David had put it, for a while yet.

Colby lay silent, listening to the distant murmur of voices that were on the edge of recognition. Men's voices…voices he knew…voices he could trust. Slowly, the tension in his muscles relaxed and he concentrated on breathing slowly, counting silently between each breath. The fog in his mind began to clear slightly, lending clarity to the voice that was speaking…Don… Colby's eyes flickered open again and he looked up, finally recognising the faces that looked down on him. He gave Don a small grin and got a warm smile in return. "Hey, big fella, waddya say?" Don grinned broadly as both men turned their attention back to Colby. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's Dee?" Colby's voice was jagged and brittle, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

"She's dealing with a couple of things bud, but she'll be here soon."

"Oh. Okay. That's okay then. She's probably checking out the surf, man." Colby chuckled quietly. "Yeah. That's where she is. Um, it's okay if we go catch a few waves today, isn't it? I mean, I'm due a couple days leave, boss…" The look of confusion flickered back into Colby's eyes again and he shifted restlessly.

David threw a questioning look at his boss. Don merely returned a 'damned if I know, bud!' look and then turned his attention back to Colby. "Dude, you take as much time as you need, okay? We can manage without you for a few days."

"Sweet. Yeah, man. That's…sweet…" Colby's eyes closed again and he relaxed back into the pillows, finally succumbing to the affects of the morphine once again.

David felt the fingers he still held tightly start to relax and go limp, and he carefully placed Colby's hand back on the bed, checking that he hadn't dislodged the IV drip that was still attached to his arm. He sat back and ran a hand over his face. "Jesus, Don, what the hell happened?"

Don indicated to the door and David nodded. Colby was quiet at last, so it was best just to let him sleep off the effects of the drugs. He followed his boss out of the room, noticing how Don measured his pace so as not to put the wounded man under any undue pressure to keep up. Don turned and gently guided his friend to a couple of chairs in the hallway. "I've got a lot to catch you up on, bud…"

Back in the room Colby lay quietly on the bed. In his drug-addled mind, the sound of the surf was lulling him back towards a blissful, comfortable sleep. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more glorious, quiet minutes before Dee softly woke him with a coffee and a kiss. Just a few more minutes and then he'd be ready to face the day. Catch some waves. Spend those precious moments with Dee. Just a few more minutes…

_**TBC…**_


	15. Wasted Tears

Disclaimer:

I'm going to start with an explanation and an apology. The last few months have not been easy for me, and personal and family issues have made the idea of writing fiction one that I couldn't really justify. We all go through times that make us reassess what is truly important to us, and for me that meant putting my family first. However, I have come to realise that my 'online' family also has an important part to play in my life, and that I have a commitment to you guys too. Thanks to the messages of support I have received from some wonderful people, I have decided to venture back with a new chapter. I don't know if my writing skills are as good as they should be after such a long break, but I promise you all that I will do my utmost to keep practising until they bloody-well are back up to standard!

So I'm sorry for taking such an extended break, and hope that this chapter goes some way to explaining not just how my characters are feeling, but how I've been feeling recently too.

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a few people who have been particularly wonderful in sending me personal messages of support. You know who you are, guys. Love you.

Right then. Enough with the touchy-feely shit, so get rid of the bloody unicorns shooting rainbows out of their arses and the fluffy feckin' bunnies and let's crack on, shall we?

As always I do not own anything to do with the regular characters of N3, as much as I wish I did. Trust me, if I was in charge, we'd still have N3 on telly and Miami Medical would be just a charred pile of dust decomposing in a landfill site somewhere… The story and the Brits, however, are MINE!

Usual disclaimer for bad language.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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Duvall sat alone in the interrogation room, groaning quietly to himself. The medic had done a reasonable job of patching up the worst of the beating he had received from both Colby and Micky Cox, but despite his protestations that he needed medication to dull the pain of his shattered nose and cheekbones, none had been forthcoming. The paramedic who had treated him seemed to have an 'understanding' with Armstrong – they spoke like old friends and the paramedic's bedside manner had been decidedly frosty. As he roughly cleaned up the worst of Duvall's wounds, the Frenchman noticed a tattoo on the man's upper arm. The body-art was decidedly 'military' in design.

Dee watched Duvall through the window, studying the Frenchman's face carefully. His left eye was swollen shut, the vivid purple bruising and dark crusting on the scabs on the cuts made him look almost pitiful. Anyone who did not know better would have felt sympathy for the man – he had obviously taken one hell of a beating.

Unfortunately for Duvall, Dee _did _know better.

The door of the observation room opened softly and Don slipped in. He stood next to the Englishwoman and looked at their captive. "Waddya say, Dee?"

"How is he?" Dee didn't turn away from her focused study of Duvall.

"Colby? Whacked out of his nut on morphine right now, but he's gonna be okay. David's with him." Don ran a hand over his face and sighed. It seemed like days since he had managed to snatch any sleep, and his reserves were decidedly low. "He's asking for you."

"He'll keep."

The cold, clinical tone of Dee's voice surprised Don. "Dee?"

Dee turned to her friend, her green eyes hard and unforgiving. "Sorry if that offends your sensitive nature, Eppes, but Colby is in the best place he can be right now. Me clucking over him like a mother hen wouldn't achieve anything except to delay things further. We're up against the clock here, Don. My place is here. Doing my job. Colby would do exactly the same."

"Ya know, I don't know if he _would _if it were you laying in that bed, sweetheart." Don laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "But I get it. I really do. You're keeping a clear head so Colby doesn't have to. Believe me, I've done the same thing myself enough times to know how you're feeling right now."

"And how exactly _am _I feeling, Don?" Dee's voice was suddenly sharper than normal. "Huh?"

"Hey, c'mon, Dee. This is me you're talking to. I know for a _fact _you'd give anything to be with Col right now." He gave her a reassuring smile. "But I also know enough about you to see when you're in 'business mode', sweetie. Personal can wait until later, no matter how much you wish it didn't have to, right?"

For a moment Dee was silent, simply staring blankly at the American. Then, with a sigh, she quietly cursed. "Fuck you, Eppes."

Don nodded and wrapped his arms around her, smiling gently. Dee let him hold her for a brief second, before she broke away from his embrace. He rubbed the top of her arm and grinned at her. "Feel better for that?"

Dee sniffed sharply. "Surprisingly, yes. But I _swear_, Eppes, you ever tell anyone that…"

Don chuckled and interrupted. "…That what? That you went all weepy and unnecessary on me twice in one day? That you dared to show me that you've actually got feelings? Oh sweetie, believe me I'd rather face a whole _army _of armed meth heads than risk _that_!"

A fleeting smile flashed across Dee's lips. "Okay, okay. I get the message, Don. I promise that as soon as I'm done with this French git, I'll hand over the reins to you and go do the dutiful girlfriend bit at Colby's bedside, okay?" She sniffed again and straightened her shoulders. "Now. Let's see what buddy boy here has to say for himself. Is Stobbard safe?"

Don nodded. "Yep. Doug and Danny are all over him. We've got…" Don glanced at his watch, "two hours before the bank opens. Stobbard's given us the exact location of the safety deposit box. It's in a private bank, so I've asked Robin to get us a rush job on a court order to get access."

"Who the fuck needs a court order? We've got the keyholder, Don. We could just take Stobbard there ourselves…"

"And risk exposing him to a sniper's bullet?" Don shook his head. "No. No more risks, Dee. From here on in, I want everything by the book. If Duvall's claims that the Secretary of State is involved in this mess are even a little tiny bit true, we're gonna be facing the biggest goddamn federal shitstorm we've ever seen. And I wanna make sure that our asses are well and truly covered. I wanna be _absolutely _sure that they can't nail us to the wall on a goddamn technicality." He sighed. "Let's face it sweetie, we've been playing a little fast and loose with due process so far. We can't afford for it to go south on us now just because it suits us to cut a couple more corners."

Dee nodded. "Fair enough. But if that scumbag starts screaming for a lawyer…"

Don held up a hand. "As far as I'm concerned, Duvall's under arrest for a terrorist attack on federal agents. This one's got Patriot Act written all over it. He can scream as loud as he wants. But if I feel that he represents a clear and present danger to the safety and security of this country, I can hold the fucker for as long as I want to, and no damn lawyer's gonna get within a mile of him until _I _say so." Don's face hardened, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "Like I said. _By the book_."

Dee smiled slowly. "Absolutely, Don. By the book. Just by _your _book though, right?"

Don grinned broadly. "Adda girl, Dee. Adda girl." He patted her shoulder.

Dee studied Don carefully and frowned. "Ya know, I think I'm beginning to suss you out, Eppes. You're…" She turned to face him fully and crossed her arms, studying the grinning American. "Yeah, you're a crafty little bastard, ain't ya?"

The grin didn't leave Don's face and he wagged a finger at her. "Ah, you see, you're not the _only_ one who can think sideways, Captain! Us civilians have a few tricks of our own, you know." He nodded towards Duvall. "I guess the guy's in enough discomfort right about now to become decidedly co-operative. Wanna go tag team him?"

Dee smiled darkly. "There's nothing I'd like more right now."

"By the book, Dee."

"By the book, Don…"

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Duvall visibly flinched as the door opened. He watched nervously as Armstrong and the American FBI agent walked into the room, like a frightened mouse watches two prowling cats. His eyes darted from one to the other, trying to get some measure of how this situation was going. Whatever way he looked at it, it wasn't going well for him…

"Duvall. Claude Pierre. Born Marseilles, fifteenth March, nineteen sixty four." Dee pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him without making eye contact. She read from a file. "Entered the United States illegally via Miami International under the alias Francois Arceneau." Dee glanced up. "Glad to see that you at least have a sense of irony, Duvall, even if the existence of your backbone is somewhat in question."

Don frowned. "Dee?"

"Oh, Arceneau means gunmaker or a seller of guns, Don. It's just Duvall's little joke, isn't it, Duvall?"

The Frenchman snarled at Dee. "Baisez-vous, la chienne!"

Dee's eyes widened. "Claude! Claude! Really! Such language!" Her mock surprise vaporised in an instant and a dark cast clouded her green eyes. "Now that you've got that out of your system, matey, let's get down to business, shall we?" She closed the file in front of her and folded her hands. "Now I would take the time to explain to you just how deep in the doo-doo you actually are, but one, I don't have the patience and two, I'm all out of crayons and fuzzy felt. So you'll just have to take it as read that right now, you couldn't be further in the shit if you tried."

"Put it this way, Claude. Illegal entry into the US, added to the little attack on federal agents that you've just been part of, as well as the steaming pile of evidence I have against you means that you're being held under the Patriot Act, buddy." Don sat on the corner of the table. "That means life in Supermax, Duvall. And don't think there'll be any chance for a bullshit plea bargain, my friend. This is _federal_."

Dee leaned forward, picking up Don's tag. "You really need to consider very, _very _carefully the choices you make from now on, Claude. Because you make the wrong ones and you won't see the light of day ever again. That's a promise."

"I can think of at least five felonies off the top of my head that I can charge you with, Duvall. And that's not even including assaulting a federal agent. With a goddamn rocket launcher." Don shook his head. "Man, I don't think they've even got a statutory sentence for that one yet. But I'm guessing that they'll make one up especially for you, buddy."

Dee sighed deeply. "Seriously Claude, I've stepped in puddles that were deeper than you." She leaned back in her chair and started to drum rhythmically on the table with her fingers. Duvall glanced at her fingers tapping out a tattoo on the table top, almost mesmerised by them. The interrogation technique was working. The constant barrage from the two agents, combined with the '_tap, tap, tap'_ of her fingers drumming on the table was throwing him completely off balance. He hadn't slept for days, he was wired on coffee and was probably desperately jonesing for a line of coke to keep him awake right now. He'd been beaten to a pulp by two furious ex-special forces soldiers, and was trapped in a situation that offered no way out. He was on the edge of crumbling completely. Dee pushed home, all the while keeping that Chinese water torture tap-tap-tapping going, nibbling away at his resolve, making it impossible for him to focus…

She studied the Frenchman. "Come on, Duvall! Face it, old son. You're not an ideas man. You're an action man, aren't you? You're great when it comes to operations, but planning and strategics? You leave that to someone else, don't you? Thinking ain't your strong point, is it?"

"Who's further up the chain, Duvall?" Don leaned in. "Who's giving the orders that you're following?"

Duvall glanced from one agent to the other. All the time the constant '_tap, tap, tap_' of Dee's drumming made it impossible to think clearly. Dee kept the tapping steady and constant, like a dripping faucet…

"C'mon, Claude. You were singing like a bleedin' canary back at the house. You even bandied the Secretary of State's name about! What was all that about, Claude? Was that you just trying to buy a bit of time, huh? Were you bullshitting us, Claude?"

"I…NON! NON! I told you the truth!"

"You were _lying_, Claude. Lying to save your own fat, sorry arse after getting it handed to you on a plate by Colby." Dee's fingers continued to tap remorselessly on the table top…

"I was NOT lying!" I…" Claude stared at Dee's fingers, watching them as they drummed on the table. "MERDE! STOP! STOP DOING THAT! STOP IT! STOP!" He screamed in frustration and his handcuffed hands shot forward, slamming down on Dee's fingers.

Don moved instantly, grabbing Duvall by the shoulders and shoving him violently back into the chair. The chair toppled backwards and Duvall fell with it, taking with him the table and the Englishwoman. Dee kicked the table to one side and rolled. She landed perfectly on top of Duvall, one knee pressing down on his chest and her right foot planted flat next to his head. She had smacked her right hand over the top of Duvall's bruised fingers and in a swift and barely perceptible move twisted them around almost ninety degrees to his wrist. Duvall roared in pain and frustration, pinned to the floor and tangled in the furniture and a relentless, agonising wristlock.

Dee's expression was blank as she stared down at him. "Well, _that _was a bloody stupid thing to do, wasn't it, numbnut?" She gave a quick tweak on the wristlock and released her grip on his fingers. She stood up, carefully avoiding the toppled furniture, and straightened her shirt. Don grabbed Duvall by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, righting the chair and pushing the snarling Frenchman back into the seat. He glanced at Dee and they both paused to pick up the tipped table and rearrange the interrogation room back to some semblance of order. Duvall watched their every move like a hawk, glowering at them furiously.

Dee stepped back and stood quietly in the corner of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Time to let Don take over the interrogation…

Don leaned forward on the table, staring down at Duvall. "Okay. I get you're mad at us, Claude. I get it. But right now, you're in no position to bargain, my friend. We have enough evidence to put you and Stobbard away for the rest of your miserable lives, although I'm guessing that we're gonna be dealing with a whole _heap_ of extradition requests from various countries who really wanna talk to you _real _bad, my friend. Who knows? One day very soon, one of those requests might be successful, and instead of sitting in a nice, comfy cell in ADX Florence, you could find yourself on a plane to Bogota. And I'm guessing the Colombians ain't gonna be as accommodating as us, right, Claude?"

Dee smiled to herself. Good man! Don was using their earlier ruse to rattle the man even further. He already believed that the Colombians were rushing through the paperwork for an extradition. And it was pretty damn obvious that was a situation Duvall would do _anything_ to avoid…

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. His head slumped onto his chest and for a moment silence fell over the room. Slowly he looked up at Don. "Okay. Okay. You win. I'll tell you everything. I…"

The door burst open and three men marched into the room. Don spun around and looked furiously at the intruders. "What the HELL?"

"Special Agent Don Eppes?" The man in front flashed a federal ID badge. "This man is now under our jurisdiction. You will release him into our custody immediately."

"Like HELL I will!" Don's dark eyes flashed furiously. "Who the…"

"Homeland Security, Agent Eppes. Sorry, buddy, but this goes way above your pay grade. This is a court order giving me immediate custody of Claude Pierre Duvall. It is _non-negotiable_, Agent Eppes."

"Screw that!" Don slammed the piece of folded paper the man handed to him furiously onto the table. "This is MY goddamn case! You can't just come barging in here…"

"Actually? They can, Don." Deputy Director Falling stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry guys. But Duvall is Homeland Security's problem now. Hand him over."

"Are you _kidding _me?"

"Don, don't argue with me. I'm giving you a direct order." Deputy Director Falling waved towards Duvall. "He's all yours, gentlemen. Don? Step aside, please."

"Sir, please…"

"Step _aside_, Don. That's an _order_." Falling's voice was sharp. "Now!"

Don slowly stood to one side as two of the Homeland Security agents stepped into the room and towards Duvall. They each took an arm and helped the Frenchman to his feet. As he was frogmarched out of the room, Duvall glanced over at Eppes, a smug smile on his face. "Adieu, mon ami. You won't be too offended if I say I hope I never see your pig face again, non?" Duvall chuckled and was gone. The lead Homeland Agent nodded curtly to Falling and followed his team out of the interrogation room…

Don stared, open mouthed, at his boss. Dee, still standing in the corner, had a look of utter amazement on her face. "What the _fuck _just happened here? Sir?" The 'sir' was added as an afterthought as she remembered that Falling was, in fact, her boss too.

Falling walked in and shut the door. "I'm sorry Don. Dee. I really am. I don't know how the hell they got wind of what was happening, but first I knew was being woken up from a very warm and comfortable sleep by a phonecall from the damn Pentagon. Seems you've stepped on some very big toes this time, Don." Falling sat down on one of the chairs and sighed. "Now you know I'll back you guys to the hilt on this, but even I have bosses, Don. Bosses that are spitting acid over this. They're demanding that we hand over Stobbard as well."

"No way! No! Sir, we can't just walk away from this!" Don pleaded with his boss. "We've got two agents in the hospital, god knows how many innocents dead, you're telling me we just _walk away_? We've uncovered a chain of corruption that goes all the way to the damn top, and there's still the possibility that we're looking at one of the biggest arms deals in LA's history going down any time soon! This is _our_ damn case, sir!"

"This is out of our hands, Don. Washington have made it perfectly clear that they're taking over the case, whether we like it or not." Falling stood up. "I'm sorry, Don, but this is one we're not gonna win." He patted Don on the shoulder. "Put it down to experience, bud. And count yourself lucky that you, Colby and Dee aren't being handcuffed yourselves right now for breaking just about every rule in the book, either." Falling stood in front of Don and his voice softened. "Don, I want your team to hand over Stobbard and all the information concerning this case to Homeland Security. Co-operate fully with them. And then?" He sighed. "Take a couple of days off. Get some rest. And then come back and focus on the pile of other cases I know are sitting on your desk."

Falling turned to Dee. "As for you, Dee, I suggest you use your time off to ensure that Colby gets back on his feet as quickly as possible. I want your team back in action. We've come to rely on MIT rather heavily, and your presence has been missed recently. I expect you to debrief your team fully and have your final report on my desk by Monday morning. Am I clear?"

Dee stood stock still, her face emotionless. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to bed. Good night, Agents."

With a last, sympathetic look at the two crestfallen agents, Falling turned and walked to the door. He paused…"Ya know, thinking about it…" He turned and looked at Don. "Stobbard is still in _our _custody, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And it could take a few hours to sort out the paperwork to hand him over to Homeland, I presume?"

"Err…"

"What I'm _saying_, Don, is that okay, it's up to Homeland to deal with the whole corruption side of things. Our remit is primarily terrorism, isn't it? And correct me if I'm wrong, but an arms deal could constitute part of a terrorist threat. Of course, I'm just thinking out loud here." Falling paused.

Don frowned. "Um, _technically_, you're correct, sir. We are really more concerned with protecting the citizens of Los Angeles against a potential terrorist threat."

Falling nodded and smiled. "Absolutely. Besides, it might take you a while to get the message to your agents. And of course, any additional information that they manage to gleam from Stobbard during that time could be of considerable use in preventing what would be considered a 'violent crime', namely an arms deal in the LA area, _right_? And your unit is the _Violent Crimes _Unit, isn't it. Don?"

Don smiled slowly. "Waddya think Dee? Could it take a while to get the order to Doug and Danny? About handing Stobbard over to our good friends in Homeland Security?"

Dee nodded. "Yeah. Could be that the lads have their phones turned off. Or a bad signal. Or summat like that. Besides, Stobbard is a British National. Technically, they would have to go through Her Majesty's government to secure access to him for further questioning. And, well, I'm kinda the official MI6 representative here. So…" Dee shrugged. "I guess they'd have to go through me. And I've got so much to do, it might take me a bit of time to get around to it. Ya know. Priorities and such."

Falling smiled. "That's what I thought. But I trust you will endeavour to make the handover as quickly as is reasonably possible, considering all the potential delays that you might encounter in the execution of your duties?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"I'd say that it could take anything up to, oh, say 24 hours? Right, Agents?"

Together, Don and Dee answered. "24 hours. Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir."

Falling opened the door. "Good. Make sure you don't go over that time limit, Don. Goodnight." With a last, conspiratorial wink, he vanished into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Don stared at Dee, who slowly shook her head. "I think we've just been royally fucked over by Homeland Security, Don."

"Ya _think_?"

"But at least we've got a few crumbs left, mate. And we've only got 24 hours to follow 'em all the way back to Stobbard. Maybe we can get something out of this damn mess." Dee ran her fingers through her short, red hair and scowled. "Okay, listen. Maybe we can't go after the head honcho, but like Falling said, at least we can hang on to Stobbard for a bit and try and bust the arms deal. After all, that's what this was all about originally, right?"

"Oh, terrific. That's small fuckin' comfort, Dee!"

Dee walked over to Don and put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, you daft sod! Falling was throwing us a bone there, okay? He doesn't agree with what just happened either, but he's right, mate. He's got bosses too, and no matter how fucked up it is, we still have to answer to that chain of command. Otherwise we're either out on our arses or in bloody jail, okay? So focus here, Don, focus! Otherwise what Colby and David and Micky…Don, what they went through was all for _nothing_! D'you wanna be the one to explain that to Col when he comes around? Because I'm damn fuckin' sure I don't!" Dee stared intently at Don.

Don shook his head. "No. You're right." He straightened up. "Okay, let's try and salvage something from this goddamn mess. Call Danny and Doug. Make sure they do NOT hand Stobbard over until we've gotten into that safety deposit box. I want copies of everything, Dee. _Everything_. We suck Stobbard dry _before_ we hand him over, understood?"

"Understood."

"I'll go see Colby and David." Don ran a hand through his dark hair. "They have a right to know what's going on. And like you said, it's better coming from me, right?"

Dee didn't respond, but simply opened the door and walked silently out of the interrogation room, leaving Don alone with his thoughts for a moment.

Bastards.

He leaned against the table and his head dropped. Fifteen years. He'd given the Bureau fifteen damn years of his life. And now it was all down to the whims of Washington. He suddenly felt very alone and very exposed…

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Don walked quietly along the corridor of the hospital. Visitors weren't exactly welcomed at this early hour, but he didn't pay any attention to the stern looks of the duty nurse. As he walked towards Colby's room, she scuttled after Don and put herself between him and the open doorway, holding a hand up. "Oh no you don't, Agent! Do you have any _idea _what time it is?"

"Trust me, I really do." Don smiled at the nurse. "Look, I'm sorry, but this is important."

"Really." The nurse pursed her lips angrily. "And so is Agent Granger's recovery, or don't you think that's up there on your list of important things to do?"

Don's voice dropped to an angry whisper. "Listen. I need to talk to Agent Granger right _now_, and you getting all in my face about it isn't gonna change that, okay? Now step aside."

"No. My duty is to my patent, Agent. And right now he needs to rest."

Don sighed. "Okay, I tell you what. You go in there, tell Colby that Don needs to speak to him urgently and let him decide, how about that?"

"How about _no_?"

"How about you guys quit your damn arguing and you just let him in so I can get some freakin' peace and quiet?" Colby's cracked voice was tinged with annoyance.

The nurse's head spun around and she glared at Colby. "You're supposed to be asleep!"

"Wow, really? And there's me thinking it was breakfast time! Seriously, nurse, I know this guy. He ain't gonna quit until you let him in, so you might as well do us all a favour and get it over and done with. Please?" Colby flashed one of his devastating smiles at the nurse and Don saw the colour flush her cheeks.

"Well…okay. But _five minutes_! Understood?"

"Understood."

Don watched the nurse march back to her station and slipped quietly into Colby's room.

It was good to see his friend a little more with it, but he still looked like hell, and waking him up at silly am in the morning wasn't helping his general mood. His normally clear, green eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, and Don could see the angry bruises on his cheek and side of his head. Colby tried to sit up and gasped, clutching his side. Don hurried to help him, but Colby shrugged him away. "I'm fine. Just…give me a minute, okay?" Don backed off. He knew how much Colby hated people fussing over him – the only one allowed to do so was Dee. He let Colby take his time and waited patiently until the man let out an audible sigh, indicating he was as comfortable as he was going to be. "Okay, Don, what's so goddamn urgent that you're pissing nurses off at five in the morning? I swear to god, man, if she gets her own back by giving me an enema, I'm gonna come gunning for ya!"

Don chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Sorry, Col. Look, I'll buy her some candy and flowers to say sorry, okay?"

"Sweet. So c'mon. What's so damn urgent? You know I was gonna check myself outta here today anyway, right? So like, couldn't this've waited another hour or two?"

"Are you kidding me?" Don's eyes widened. "Like hell, you are, Granger! You're in no fit state to go anywhere!"

"Stop stalling, man. C'mon, what's going on, bud? You're starting to freak me out…"

Don sighed. "We've been screwed over by Homeland Security, Col."

Colby frowned deeply and sat up straight, ignoring the searing pain in his side from the broken ribs. "Waddya mean, screwed over? Don? What's happened?"

Don took a breath and started to tell his friend of the night's events, cumulating in Duvall being snatched from under their noses by Homeland Security. Colby listened, his face showing no hint of any emotion. Finally, Don finished and waited for his friend to respond…

Colby sank back into the pillows and slowly ran a hand over his face, covering his eyes for a few seconds. He eventually spoke, his voice quiet and flat. "Well, I guess that's it, then." His hand dropped away from his face and Don could see the crestfallen look in his eyes. Colby blinked and looked at Don. He bit his bottom lip and shrugged. "Nothin' we can do, bud."

"That's it? _That's_ your response, after I tell you we've been screwed? That's…that's _it_?" Don was astonished. Normally Colby would be furious, ready to kick back at what was quite clearly Washington's attempt to cover up corruption at the highest level. It went against everything Colby believed in, everything that _he _believed in. But instead of responding with anger and a determination to carry on whatever the cost, Colby was just…_giving up_? This wasn't right… "Col…"

"Listen Don, I'm tired, okay? I guess right now I just haven't got much of a fight in me. Ask me again tomorrow and I'll probably be ready to take on the fuckers again, but right now?" He shrugged again. "I guess I've just had the shit kicked outta me one too many times recently, Don. Maybe sometimes you just have to…I dunno, let one go." He flashed Don a weak smile and slowly closed his eyes.

Don looked at his friend. He'd never seen the big man look so tired, so small, so vulnerable. Colby's complexion was pale and drawn, and the ugly bruises on his face made him look much older than he actually was. He'd taken some serious beatings over the past couple of years, and Don knew he'd also been through the emotional wringer too. Maybe he would feel differently tomorrow, or in a week's time. Or a month. Perhaps Falling was right. Perhaps they all needed to just take a break for a while…

Don sat quietly by his friend's side and watched as Colby appeared to drift back into a dreamless sleep. He carefully pushed a wayward lock of hair back from the man's forehead and sighed. Colby was like a brother to him. He cared about the younger man in the same way that he cared about Charlie and David. He couldn't imagine doing the job without Colby. But it tore at him to see how tired and deflated the big man was.

The burden of responsibility was a heavy one to bear. He knew he drove his team hard. He knew he demanded more of them than anyone else would. And he knew that they always delivered. But perhaps, sometimes, he asked too much of them. Asked them to sacrifice too much of themselves in the pursuit of justice. Don's head dropped onto his chest and he sighed deeply, fighting back the tears. This case had nearly cost two of his best friends their lives. It had nearly destroyed his team. It had shown to him the stinking, foetid underbelly of corruption that tainted even the highest of offices. It had shaken his faith in the integrity of the organisation he had given 15 years of his life to. It was sucking the life and the spirit out of one of the strongest, bravest men he'd ever known. His friend.

Was it worth it?

Was _any_ of it worth it?

Don couldn't hold back any more. He felt the tear slide down his cheek and his throat tighten. He covered his eyes and sobbed quietly, desperate to release the frustration and grief but trying to be careful not to disturb his friend…

From the doorway, David watched as his two best friends suffered in silence. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. All of this started with a simple phone call – a warning to leave things alone. He hadn't. He'd confided in Colby, knowing full well that his friend would do everything in his power to root out the corruption that both he and David detested more than anything else. And this had been the result. He had heard Don's recap of everything that had happened and listened in silence, the guilt that filled him choking any words in his throat.

Was it worth it?

Was _any _of it worth it?

David felt the defiance flooding back into him. No. They had to finish this. No matter what the orders from 'on high', it was their moral duty to finish what they had started. And the only way that they could do that would be to stick together. To the bitter end, no matter what…

Colby lay quietly listening to the anguish in Don's almost silent sobs. It tore at his very soul to hear a man he trusted so implicitly, who had guided him through some of the toughest times of his life and who had stood by him in such distress. He frantically fought back his own tears, his own sense of desolation and emotional exhaustion. It seemed that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, the spectre of corruption couldn't be vanquished. How do you fight shadows?

Was it worth it?

Was _any _of it worth it?

Colby dug deep and found a last vestige of defiance. No. He couldn't give up now. He could _never _give up. He couldn't give up fighting, and he could _never _give up on his friends. They had a duty to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. They had taken an oath. To break that oath now would be the ultimate betrayal. And Colby had sworn _never _to betray his friends again…

In the middle of his emotional darkness, Don felt a hand tighten around his wrist and another rest gently on his shoulder. He glanced up, his vision blurred with tears. Standing silently next to him was David – his rock, his friend, his confidant. On David's lips was a soft smile that spoke of a gentle man with a soul of steel. A man who was unafraid of facing the darkest, most dangerous enemies. A man who was always ready to offer a hand should Don stumble…

He looked at the hand around his wrist and saw the IV drip in the skin. He looked at Colby, the man who could always make him laugh so easily, who lived every second to the absolute limit, who never, _ever_ gave in. The green eyes were full of gentleness – that passionate, caring gentleness that set Colby apart from so many lesser men…

Don realised that, no matter how messed up things got, he had two people he could rely on above all others to walk by his side, who would be there for him, no matter what.

Was it worth it? Was _any _of it worth it?

HELL, yes…

Colby's face was etched with deep concern. "You okay there, boss?"

Don looked at his two friends again and smiled slowly, ignoring the wasted tears that were already drying on his cheeks. He nodded. "I am now…"

_**TBC…**_


	16. Fight or Flight

Disclaimer:

Just a short one today, to try and keep things moving along. Usual applies – I do not own anything to do with N3, but the Brits and the story are mine…ALL MINE!

The language is pretty damn fruity in this chapter, so if you're easily offended, look away now, go play with some kittens, or go read a damn Hallmark card or something. Those who have spent any time at all around British squaddies will recognise that it's actually pretty tame, though…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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Doug Cross's head snapped up as he heard the door click open.

His finger curled around the trigger of his P90 and behind him he heard Danny Smith spin around, focussing all attention on the opening door. They were both jumpy – hardly surprising after the events of the last few hours. Doug's vivid blue eyes narrowed and he felt his muscles coiling like springs, ready to take that 'fight or flight' instinctive reaction and kick the shit out of it for even _thinking _about flight… The door opened wider and both men let out an audible sigh of relief, followed by an more audible click of two safety catches being switched back to the 'on' position. Diane Armstrong's raised an eyebrow quizzically. The lads were on edge…

Doug barked out a greeting. "Guv."

Even though Captain Diane Armstrong hadn't officially been his 'guv' in the military sense for more than two years now, Doug Cross still found it damn near impossible to resist the urge to snap off a salute as the imposing woman entered the room. He compromised by remembering his manners and jumping to his feet, standing on the verge of attention. Danny Smith merely grinned warmly at the woman and slung his M4 over his shoulder.

Diane didn't miss the wordless acknowledgement of superior rank Doug paid her, even though technically it was a moot point now they were no longer in the service of Her Majesty's Army. She smiled kindly at the powerfully built ex soldier, not wanting to demean the respect he showed her, but still at pains to try and put him at his ease. "At ease, Dougie."

Doug relaxed only slightly. He was running on adrenaline, Mars Bars, Danny's poisonously strong coffee and very little else. He was careful to try and conceal the tiniest tremor of fatigue in his hands, although he was pretty sure Dee had already spotted it. He hadn't slept for what felt like weeks. He'd been in the middle of a shitstorm that was everything Granger had promised it would be and more. He also knew that Granger and Cox had come out far, far worse as a result of said shitstorm than he and Danny had, so there was no point whining to the 'guv' about how pissy he was feeling right now. And his knee had started to play up again too. The constant nagging pain did nothing to improve his already foul temper, but he did his absolute best to mask it from both Danny and Diane.

Doug had not been one of the original 'Team' like Micky Cox and Danny Smith (or 'the fuckin' Chuckle Brothers' as Diane sometimes referred to them). While he had been 'Regiment', he had been part of another unit that occasionally crossed over with Captain Armstrong's in a supporting role. But since their move Stateside he had become a vital member of the 'crew', but he still felt that he was the outsider, the new boy. He was also painfully aware that he had made some big errors of judgement on this case, and was desperate to try to prove himself to the more experienced and senior members of the unit. However, any feelings of insecurity he might have needed to be pushed back into their respective holes right now. They had work to do...

"How's Col?" Danny held out a mug of coffee towards Dee.

"Grumpy, beat up and currently whacked out of his tiny little brain on happy juice. He'll be fine. Cheers, Danny." She took the mug, giving him a nod of thanks, took a mouthful and pulled a face. "Christ on a crutch Smithy, who the fuck made this and in what century?"

"Oi! You always said you liked my coffee!"

"I lied to spare your feelings, Dan. For the sake of mankind, never go near a percolator again, Smith, that's an order." Despite her barbed comments, Dee drained the last drops of the coffee and sat down in the chair opposite Doug with a sigh. Danny gave a quiet laugh and took the empty mug from her hands. Dee looked at Doug. "Where's the primary?"

"Trussed up like a turkey in the other room, guv. Paras sorted out the gunshot wound to his shoulder."

"Prognosis?"

"He'll live, but man, he just _wont _shut the hell up." Doug gave a nervous flicker of a smile. He still felt a little unsure about making the same kind of jokes with 'the guv' as the others did…

Dee gave a sort laugh. "Tried gagging the bugger with one of your old socks?"

"Thought about it, but actually? I paid quite a bit for those socks. They're genuine Shetland wool and I'm a bit loath to waste 'em on a twat like him." Doug shrugged and grinned nervously again. "But if you insist, guv…"

"Nah, nah, duct tape'll do. As long as he's secure. We've got…" she glanced at her watch, "another two hours before we can get him to the bank and open that box. Ian and Tim should be here shortly, then I can brief you all in on what's on and where we are."

"Sweet." Danny perched on the edge of a table. "So Col and Micky…"

"…Are out of commission, Dan." Dee frowned, and Danny didn't push the point. Despite her reassurance that Colby and Micky would be 'fine', Danny had been around Dee for enough years to see through her apparently flippant dismissal of their condition. He could see just how concerned Dee really was about both men, especially Colby. But there was nothing any of them could do to change the situation, and right now their two injured comrades were probably best out of things. It was a typically pragmatic approach to the wellbeing of two of his best friends. But that didn't mean the ex soldiers didn't care. It simply meant that there would be plenty of time to do as much touchy-feely 'caring' shit as they wanted to later, once this particular job was over and done with…

"Duvall?" Dee didn't answer. Danny's eyes narrowed. "Guv?"

Dee sighed and kept her voice neutral. "Claude Duvall is now Homeland Security's problem."

"_What_?"

"Like I said Dan, once Ian and Tim are here I'll fill you all in. I don't feel like giving the same briefing twice, if you don't mind." She ran her hand through her short hair and Danny could see just how tired she was too. They were all just about at the end of their respective ropes, and the tension was starting to expose the cracks in all their normally calm exteriors. Danny gave her a kindly smile.

"Want another coffee, guv?"

"Oh, _hell _no."

"I'll make a fresh pot and everything!"

"Does that 'and everything' include _not _making it out of cowshit and broken glass, filtered through a pair of your week-old used underpants?"

"Fuck you, Armstrong, that's proper NATO issue ingredients, that is! What's the matter with you, woman? Got all posh since you got your demob or wot?" Danny grinned. "How 'bout I go get some finest Arabaca beans and get some Colombian bint to crush'em between her thighs? I can see if I can get some humming birds to sweeten it with bleedin' nectar if you want, but it'll take a fuck sight longer, you posh tart! Jesus…I dunno, you bloody officers, you don't want much, do ya?"

Diane let out a shout of laughter. "I have absolutely no idea what you're on about, old chap. Nectar gathered by hummingbirds was standard issue in the Officer's Mess. But of course, you bloody below the salt, cold ration squaddies wouldn't know about the finer things in life, would you?" She grinned broadly at Danny and raised her right hand, uncurling her middle finger and jabbing it upwards. "_And_ we get better pension benefits, so fuck you and the existential dilemma you rode in on, Smithy!"

Danny laughed heartily and slapped Diane on the back. "You're a piece of work, guv, you know that?"

"Just make the coffee, you oik. And make Dougie one. He looks like he's hanging on by his fingernails over there, and a mug of your toxic shit should keep him awake for longer than he actually wants to be."

Danny laughed again and wandered off into the kitchen area. Dee chuckled quietly to herself, enjoying the brief moment of banter between two friends. She glanced over at Doug and studied the man, frowning slightly. "Dougie? You alright over there, mate?"

"Guv…" Doug began tentatively, worried about antagonising the woman without cause. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course, old son. What's on your mind?"

Doug leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. He studied the cracked floor, trying to work out what to say next. He took a breath and started talking, not wanting to look at Diane as he spoke…"Look, I know I've made some pretty bad fuck ups on this job guv, and that things haven't exactly gone well. I realise I'm the new boy in your team and all, and perhaps I don't quite fit in as well as the others do. But I don't want you to think that I'm not giving it a hundred percent, guv. I really am. I dunno…" he ran a hand through his short, blonde hair. "What I'm sayin' is if you think I'm not up to the job, just tell me and I'll put in for a transfer as soon as. I don't wanna jeopardise the safety or position of rest of the guys."

"Whoa there, big fella, say _what_?" Diane sat upright and Doug glanced up at her. He met her gaze, feeling the intense, emerald green eyes boring into him. "Now you listen to me, you soppy sod. First, stop with all this 'woe is me' feeling sorry for yourself shit. Secondly…" her voice softened. "Do you _honestly _think you'd be sitting here if Colby didn't think you were worthy of a place in MIT?"

She leaned forward so that the two ex soldier's conversation was as intimate as it could be. "Okay, listen to me, Cross. Yeah, you made a fuck up. Well, whoopdee fuckin' doo. What, you think you're the only one to ever screw up? You think I _haven't _buggered up in all the years I've been playing this bloody game? That Colby hasn't made mistakes? Or Danny? Or Micky?" She shook her head. "Wanna hear a story, Doug? When I first got my officer's pips in INT14, before I even joined the 22nd, it was about two or three years after the Good Friday peace agreement had been signed over in Belfast. Around then, we still had all kinds of shit going on over there, stuff that never got reported in the press just in case it jeopardised what was a bloody fragile situation. So they sent us in quietly to tie up a few loose ends. Ya know, mopping up the last dregs of the old guard IRA and all. So it's my job to co-ordinate this rolling surveillance on a known lieutenant in the Republicans, right? Not a snatch, just an eyes on. Okay so buddy boy is off on a jolly around some of the less salubrious night-spots of the Falls Road, I mean, we're talking full on 'blow your arse to hell' territory for us. Trouble is, no matter what we tried to do, we stood out like sore thumbs in those days. All the locals had to do was take one look at us and they'd peg us for squaddies as soon as blink."

Dee sniffed sharply and carried on. "So anyways, it's up to me to lead alpha team on this rolling job. We're working Belfast rules, ya know, clicks on the radios rather than open comms. We're driving this shitty old Nissan Cherry that was held together with nails, string and regular prayers to Saint fuckin' Kwik Fit. Do you know what I forgot to do?" She leaned in closer. "I forgot to fill the dam tank up with petrol! We ran out of gas half way down the Falls Road. We're on closed comms, so I can't shout for back up, and we have to park the damn car at the side of the road, get out and walk down the length of the Falls Road and hope we don't get shot in the back. All because I forgot to stop off at the bloody garage and fill the tank up. We found the car the next day burned out on some wasteland and I got the biggest bollocking of my life from my CO. It took me a good few months to get those brownie points back, Dougie, I can tell ya. But I _did_, mate. Wanna know why? Because I used it as a wake-up call to _never, ever _get complacent, and made damn sure I did my job to the best of my ability _all _the time, no matter what. A few months later they pinned a bleedin' medal on me for some shit or another." She paused and looked at Doug.

Doug frowned. "What's your point, guv?"

"My point?" Dee sat back in the chair. "My point, Dougie, is that we all make mistakes. It's what we do _afterwards _that defines us. And everyone deserves a second chance, even if they do fuck up. That's what I believe, and, more importantly for you old son, that's what Colby believes. And at the end of the day _he's _your boss, not me. One mistake doesn't mean you're gonna get canned, Doug. Nor should you be so quick to can yourself either, mate. You've got plenty to offer this team, and I know for a fact that Colby trusts you as much as he trusts me, or Danny, or Ian or any one of us. So stop being so damn hard on yourself, stop all this bollocks about RTU'ing yourself back to Blighty and _do your bloody job_. Crystal?" She stood up, gave Doug a broad grin and slapped him on the shoulder.

Doug's gaze was still fixed on the cracks in the floor, but he smiled to himself and finally glanced up at Dee. "Thanks, guv."

"For what?"

"The metaphorical kick up the arse."

"I can give you a real one if you want…"

Doug laughed. "Nah, thanks, guv, I'll pass. I've seen what you can do to a heavy bag in the gym when you're pissed, and I quite like my arse-cheeks in their current position, thanks. So I think I'll give the _actual _arse-kicking a miss, if you don't mind."

Dee shrugged and grinned again. "Your choice. Check on Stobbard for me, would ya? I'm going to see what's taking Danny so damn long with that coffee."

Doug stood up and grinned. "Perhaps he really has gone to get some posh coffee for ya, guv!" He chuckled quietly and wandered off to check on the condition of their prisoner.

Dee watched Doug leave the room, noting the slightly more confident posture and poise of the man. In the doorway, Danny leaned against the woodwork and gave a short whistle thorough his teeth. He held out a mug, the steam and aroma of fresh coffee rising from the surface. Dee turned and reached out, taking the mug with a smile.

"Cheers, Dan."

"Nice pep talk, Dee."

"What are you, Smithy, a fuckin' _bat_?"

"Always been blessed with good hearing, Dee." He laughed quietly. "You know, you forgot to mention that the medal they pinned on you for some 'shit or another' was the Queen's Gallantry Medal. And that it was for saving the lives of four of your team in a bloody nasty firefight in that bit of trouble we had in Prague."

Dee took a mouthful of coffee and shrugged nonchalantly. "Would it have had any relevance?"

"No. I suppose not."

Dee wandered over to her friend. "Look mate. We've known each other for what, twelve years?" Danny nodded. "In a way Dougie's right, Dan. He _is_ the new boy. But he's got a crap-load of field experience, and I don't want one little wobble to make him think he's screwed up any chance of staying on this team. So he fucked up. We move on. Simple." She took a mouthful of coffee. "He does it _again_, and it's a different matter."

Danny nodded in agreement, and then a slow grin spread across his face. "Dee, did you really forget to fill the car with petrol?"

"Yep."

"Blimey."

Dee grinned, but there was a steely caste to her eyes. "And if you _ever _repeat that story to anyone, Daniel Arron Smith, I will personally undertake a mission to make your life an absolute misery, understand?"

"Guv, you _already _make my life an absolute misery!" Danny grinned and ducked the rapier-fast slap that shot towards his head. He wasn't quite quick enough… "Ow!"

A knock at the door grabbed their attention and both ex soldiers spun around, ready… Dee glanced at Danny who nodded and moved towards the door, his Browning 9mm pistol already in his hand. "Who is it?"

A muffled American accent answered him. "It's room service, Danny, who do you fuckin' think?"

Danny grinned, looked through the peep hole just to be sure and opened the door. Ian Edgerton and Tim King strolled in. Ian raised an eyebrow at Dee. "Jumpy, Dee."

"With good reason. Right. Now the gang's all here, I can fill you in on developments."

"Is this good news or bad news?" Tim flopped down on an old moth-eaten couch and scratched idly at his ear.

Dee looked serious for a moment. "Bad. Homeland Security have taken Duvall into custody and we can't get near him. They want Stobbard too. As in yesterday."

"What?"

"Falling's given us 24 hours to squeeze as much out of this as we can. But we need to move fast because if the goon squad from the Hill get their hands on Stobbard, we're buggered. It'll get covered up faster than a tube train getting tagged by teenagers." Dee paced as she talked, trying to keep the briefing as short and as succinct as possible. "So here's plan B."

"I thought we were up to plan F at least by now." Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up, Tim." Dee threw the American a brief scowl. "We've still got a chance to nab at least some of the bigger players for the arms deal. Okay, we might not be able to get right to the heart of this bloody mess, but at least we'll be able to salvage something for our troubles."

"So we clean out Stobbard?" Ian crossed his arms and perched on the armrest of the couch.

"Yep."

Ian shrugged. "Works for me."

"Yeah, well it doesn't work for me. Dee, what the hell?" Tim scowled angrily. "Seriously? And you're okay with this?"

Dee spun around, a furious look on her face and her green eyes flashing angrily. "No, Tim, I cannot begin to describe to you how _not _okay I am with this!" Her voice was dagger-sharp as she finally lost patience. "We've got David, Colby and Micky all in hospital in various states of physical disrepair, we've got Washington playing soddin' politics and riding roughshod over the small matter of 'justice', we've got bodies piling up in morgues all over the damn city, the Deputy Director's having to put his arse on the line just to cover ours, we've got a fucker in there who's holding out for a deal so he walks, and the bloody goon squad pinched our prime witness from under mine and Don's damn noses! So _no_, Tim, I am really _not o-fuckin'-kay with this!" _Dee turned away and took a deep breath. She turned back and studied the shocked faces of the men in front of her. She held up her hands in a gesture of apology. "I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't mean that…"

Tim stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry too. I was outta line there."

"No mate, you weren't. You were absolutely right. It's not okay. But monkeys further up the food chain than us have deemed it so. Duvall did a bit of finger pointing when we interrogated him."

"Finger pointing?"

"Yeah. Straight at the Secretary of Defense."

Ian's eyes widened. "Fuck off!"

"Nope. For real."

"That's _gotta_ be bullshit, Dee!"

Tim grunted. "That's gotta be why the goons jumped in."

Dee nodded. "For sure. And I dunno, Ian. Maybe Duvall was bullshitting us about the Secretary of Defense, maybe not. But I guess we'll never know now for certain."

Danny frowned. "Unless Stobbard's got something in that dirty little safety deposit box of his, guv. He _has been _yelling long and hard about having plenty of filth to dish out."

Ian nodded. "That's true, Dee. That would explain a lot."

"And that would also explain why we've got a bunch of black SUVs just pulling up out front right now, guv." Doug trotted back into the room with a cold, hard look on his face. "ETA one minute, maybe two at a push."

"SHIT!" Dee's expression became deadly serious. "We move. NOW!" The room burst into a flurry of activity as the agents grabbed everything they could. "GET STOBBARD!" Danny and Doug gave a curt nod and shot into the back room. Within seconds they were back out, dragging a protesting Stobbard behind them. "Ian, vehicles?"

"Parked around the corner. Fifty yards away."

"Fire escape. _Go, go, go_!"

The agents and their captive shot out of the room and sprinted towards the fire escape. Doug was the last one out, slamming the door shut and checking down the stairwell. Four floors below he could see the suited 'goons' taking the stairs two at a time…

Doug sprinted towards the open window and the metal tread of the fire exit and popped through like a jack rabbit. Slinging his P90 across his back, he gripped both hand rails, lifted his feet and slid down, just inches behind his team…

From inside the building Doug could hear the shouts of the goons as they kicked the door in. As he landed on the tarmac surface of the alleyway, he glanced up. Looking down at him was a man's face, the eyes obscured by sunglasses. Doug frowned briefly in amazed amusement – dawn was only just breaking and the sun was a long way from being fully up. "What kind of a total prick wears bloody sunglasses at four in the morning?" He reached into a pocket and pulled out a canister. Tugging at the pin, he rolled the canister towards the foot of the fire escape and a cloud of smoke started to spew out, masking the goon's view of the alleyway. Giving the goon a last grin, Doug turned and sprinted after his team…

Up on the fourth floor a man walked purposefully towards the fire escape. With greying hair at the temples and a chiselled jawline, he had a distinguished, hard look to him that screamed authority. He shoved the goon out of the way and looked out into the alley in time to see the fleeing figure of Doug Cross. His steely blue eyes narrowed and a snarl contorted his lips. A man trotted up behind him. "They've gone, sir. We missed them by seconds."

The older man spun around and spat a reply. "Ya _think_?" He roughly pushed the man to one side and stamped back towards the room. "I want Stobbard. I want those sons of bitches stopped, you hear me? I don't care if they _are_ Don Eppes' damn Untouchables! Find them! FIND THEM NOW!"…

_**TBC…**_


	17. Pandora's Box

Disclaimer:

Firstly, I'd like to offer an apology to everyone who has been following this story and my other effort 'Minesweeper'. I know that it's been an absolute age since any updates were forthcoming, and while I'm not going to go into the reasons behind my prolonged absence here, please be assured that I have never 'forgotten' about either story, nor am I abandoning FanFiction any time soon. Suffice to say, I'm now trying to make some tentative steps back into creative writing and it may take me a little while to get my artistic 'confidence' back, so please forgive me if it takes a while for the standard to be as high as I would like it to be. This chapter is a special birthday gift for Jules, who has been a fantastic friend and supporter, and for everyone who has stuck by my stories despite the lengthy 'hiatus' I have been forced to take. It's good to be back, people…

Usual disclaimer applies – I don't own anything to do with N3, the regular characters or what have you. I do, however, own this 'ere story and the Brits.

Warning; typical 'squaddy' language throughout, which may make your hair stand on end, but that's how these buggers roll so if you don't like it, I suggest you find something slightly tamer to read. 'Minesweeper' is next on the Update list, which should be within the next week or so, with luck.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"GET IN!" Danny Smith literally threw Stobbard into the back seat of the SUV. Doug Cross was already gunning the engine as Danny Smith leapt into the rear passenger seat next to a cowering Stobbard. The front passenger door was ripped open and Dee Armstrong vaulted into the seat and slammed the door shut. Behind them, a second SUV snarled into life as Ian Edgerton and Tim King powered up the big V8 engine, blue smoke belching out of the tail pipe and throwing up a dense smokescreen in the tight space of the alleyway.

"Don't just sit there fiddling with the fucking radio station, Cross, fuckin' _DRIVE the damn thing_!" Danny glowered at his friend and was promptly tossed backwards into the seat as Doug's foot slammed down on the accelerator peddle and the parking brake clicked off. The SUV shot forward, its wheels spinning in the slime and mud of the alley. Danny frantically hung onto the rear offside passenger door and tried to pull it shut, fighting the inertia of the car's forward momentum that threatened to tear the door from his grasp. He just about managed to shut it with a slam before it was ripped off the side of the truck by a _very _solid metal dumpster that Doug missed by millimetres. A whimper from Stobbard made all three passengers glower at him and speak as one…

"Jesus! You people are _crazy_!"

"SHUT UP!"

For good measure, Danny launched a swipe at the back of Stobbard's head – an act that earned a swift reprimand from Dee. "Don't slap the civvy, Dan."

"Sorry, guv. Couldn't resist. Snivelling little…"

"…Danny! Enough!" Dee frowned and pulled the radio out of her pocket and pressed the speak button. "You lads alright back there?"

Ian Edgerton's voice crackled in response. "_Yeah, we're good. But I reckon Tim here could do with a few driving lessons from you when this is all over, Dee."_

Dee chucked quietly as she heard an impassioned "Fuck you, Edgerton! You wanna drive?" in the background of Ian's response. "Okay boys, knock it off or I swear, I _will_ turn this truck right back around! She returned a grin back at Doug, who had been focusing on getting them as far away from the run-down hotel as possible and through the early morning LA traffic, as well as eavesdropping on the radio conversation to make sure his friends were okay. "Stay with us. We're heading for the safe-house down at the docks." She turned to Doug. "Location bravo three, mate."

"Got it." Doug swung the SUV into a hard left, leaving thick black lines on the tarmac as the tyres screamed in agony.

"And Dougie?"

"Guv?"

"In one piece, please? Let's not draw too much unwanted attention to ourselves, shall we? Besides, Danny's looking decidedly travel sick back there, and I do _not _want him up-chucking this early in the morning, okay?"

Doug grinned and eased off the gas, bringing the SUV down to a more sedate pace that was less likely to attract the attention of the LAPD. The smoother motion of the SUV was met with a heart-felt "Thank fuck for that!" from the back seat, as Danny finally had the chance to shift to a more comfortable position. He glanced over at the still-cowering figure of Stobbard and poked the man in the ribs. "Well, well old son, aren't you mister fuckin' popular this morning? Who were the goons, Stobbard? Friends of yours?"

Stobbard glanced up at two icy blue eyes that were either filled with casual amusement or homicidal hatred – he couldn't quite work out which. "They were no friends of mine, mate!"

Danny leaned in, casual amusement now most definitely no longer part of the equation…"I'm _not_ your _mate_, fuck-face. And those bastards back there were definitely Washington spooks or I'm a fuckin' Geisha girl! Question is, why do they want you so bad that they're prepared to go up against _us_?"

"We're not invincible, Danny. Especially when it's pretty damn obvious that we've got some little shit on our side feeding them our every damn move." Dee ran her fingers through her short hair and sighed. "He doesn't know anything, do you, Stobbard? He's just a very small cog in a very big wheel that, right now, is threatening to come spinning off its damn axle and go pinwheeling down the fuckin' road with us hanging onto the bloody thing for grim death. We head for the new safe house, we don't tell _anyone _where we're going and we wait it out for a few more hours until we can get to the bank and find out what dirty little secrets Pandora here's got hidden in his safety deposit box. Right, Stobbard?" Dee turned in her seat, her emerald-green eyes boring intensely into her snivelling passenger. She let out a sharp sniff, and her world-weary demeanour suddenly changed. Dee's voice dropped to a quiet snarl. "Or perhaps you're just jerking us off, old son, aih?"

"Guv?" Danny frowned, and Doug glanced in the driver's mirror back at the rear of the SUV, locking worried gazes with his friend. They had both heard the sudden change in the tone of her voice. Something inside Dee had snapped. And, just like Colby, when she snapped it wasn't a good idea to be anywhere near the blast radius…

In a move that was so quick and smooth, nobody had any time to react, a Browning 9mm materialised in Dee's hand, the safety already off and what looked like a _very_ itchy finger resting alongside the trigger guard. The business end was pointing straight at Stobbard. The look on her face was one of cold ruthlessness as she studied Stobbard. The Englishman tried to push himself further back into the seat, away from the crazy bitch and a terminally up-close and personal experience with a Browning High Power, a handgun that had been a personal favourite of the Regiment's for many years and one that looked all-too comfortable in the hands of his tormentor. The proximity of the powerful handgun in such a confined space was also making his fellow passengers edgy.

"Guv, ease up…"

"Wind your fuckin' neck in, Smithy!" Dee shot her friend a furious look and then refocused her attention back onto Stobbard. "Okay, you snivelling little bag of shit, here's the thing. Over the past few days I've seen the man I love almost killed, my friends hurt, civilians blown to shit and back by _your_ friends, I've been shot at by my own damn side, chased, blown up, you fuckin' name it and you know what the one thing, the _one single thing_ that's consistent throughout?" She sniffed sharply again. "YOU, you little fucker!"

"Guv…"

"Shut UP, Danny! So what I want to know is this. Are you fucking us about? Huh? Because if you are, you better tell me right now and all that'll happen is that I'll probably blast one of your kneecaps out for the _sheer hell of it_ and then throw you out of a moving vehicle on the freeway and let an eighteen wheeler do the rest of the job for me! And trust me, that's the _good_ option, buddy, because if I find out you've been stringing us along later _on_, when I'm even more tired and emotional than I am right now, you would not _fuckin' believe _what I'll do to you! So, fess up, dickweed. This magic box of yours. Is it actually _worth_ opening, or should we start calling you _fuckin' Pandora_? Because it better be worth it, my friend! It really better be fuckin' _worth it!"_"

"Guv, that's ENOUGH!" Danny clamped his hand around the Browning's muzzle and directed it towards the floor of the truck. The two friends looked intently at one another and everyone in the car held their breath…

Dee stared at her friend for a few seconds. Danny could see the emotional battle that was raging behind the flat, expressionless green eyes. Finally she sniffed, a barely perceivable nod telling him that he had managed to punch through the red mist that had descended on her, and had reached her more rational personality buried deep under a thick layer of utter exhaustion, emotions and worry. Danny heard the safety click back on the Browning, and his guts gradually unknotted themselves.

Dee sat back and stared out of the window, detached and cold, her emotions now back under complete control. In the back seat, Danny and Doug shared a look of concern but didn't press the matter any further. To do so would be folly in the extreme…

"How far, Doug?"

"'Bout a mile and a bit. ETA, three minutes." Doug glanced over at Dee. "Um, Guv? Mind if I make an observation?"

In his head, Danny let out a fervent prayer that Doug would not comment on what had just happened…

Dee looked calmly at Doug. "What's that Dougie?"

"Well, I was just thinking. These are official company vehicles, which means they've got GPS trackers on 'em. We park these up in front of the flop-house and it'll bring the goon squad down on our arses before we can get in the bloody door. They ain't stupid, guv. And those CIA sods have more toys than Hamleys. They'll be tracking us."

Dee looked at Doug and grinned. "Good thinking, Crossy!" She pressed the speak button on the radio and spoke quickly. "Ian, listen up. Dougie's just raised a good point about these damn trucks, mate. GPS trackers."

"_Fuck! That must be how they keep finding us!"_

"Well, yeah, that and possibly other reasons. So, here's what we do. When we get to the flop house, me, Danny, Stobbard and you will decamp. Tim, you and Dougie keep driving, and when I mean keep driving, I mean it. This'll be a rolling decamp, I don't want any kind of pause in the travel of these two vehicles to raise a blip on their radar, okay? Take our friends on a tour of LA for a couple of hours and then dump the damn trucks as far away from our final location as its possible to do so without ending up in Arizona." She paused and grinned. "In fact, fuck it, why not? Take the bastards to Vegas if you have to, but _keep together _and keep them off our damn arses for a few hours, copy?"

A chuckle came over the radio. "_Copy that. Tim says can he put a night at Caesar's Palace on expenses?"_

"Fine, as long as he doesn't use the mini-bar or the adult movie channels!" She glanced over at Doug. "And that goes for you too, Dougie."

Doug grinned. "What, not even a jar of macadamia nuts? Or a Toblerone?"

"You're weird, you know that?"

"Ah, what can I say, guv? I like macadamia nuts!"

Dee shook her head and chuckled. In the back, Danny still had a deep sense of unease – Dee's mood swings between the usual gentle ribbing that they engaged in day in, day out and gun-toting, snarling fury were becoming more extreme. Her code name in the Regiment had been Firecracker for a very good reason, and she was showing signs of that propensity to swing from relative calm to explosive violence more often recently…

However, now was not the time or place to have one of his 'chats' with his friend. He knew she was right, and that to ensure they weren't followed straight to the new safe house they had to be as far away from the GPS-tracked SUVs as possible. He turned to Stobbard. "Right then old son, when I say out, you get out, understood?" Stobbard nodded, still almost apoplectic with fear. He was surrounded by people he couldn't manipulate, control or play mind games with. Their brutal, no-nonsense approach to the situation made it impossible for him to manoeuvre himself into any sort of bargaining position without running the risk of ending up with a 9mm bullet in the kneecap…or the brain.

"Thirty seconds, guv!"

"Okay, stand by. Ian, on my mark…"

"_Copy that…"_

The next twenty seconds sped past as everyone prepared for a rolling decamp. Danny had one hand on the door handle and the other on Stobbard's collar. ready to drag him out behind him and make doubly sure the confused and frightened civilian decamped when he was damn well supposed to. They'd have to forego the gear, but there was back-up kit in the safe house they could use, including a cache of weapons that should keep even Genghis Khan's marauding hordes at bay for a couple of hours.

Doug shot a look at Dee and briefly smiled. "Good luck, guv."

Dee smiled back. "You too. Give those buggers the right royal run-around!"

"Understood!"

"Decamp in three…two…one…GO!"

On the go, four doors on the two SUVs sprung open and Dee, Danny and Ian all hit the ground rolling, springing up onto their feet like cats. Stobbard landed in a heap, feeling the potholed and roughened tarmac of the dockyard parking bay scrape away a few layers off his left cheek. He could already feel it begin to sting as a pair of strong hands hauled him to his feet. He looked up into the quizzical brown eyes of Ian Edgerton, a wry smile twisting his lips upwards. "You're not supposed to land on your face, you know." Ian rolled his eyes and chuckled, tossing the beaten and bloody Stobbard towards the Brits, who frog-marched him towards the already open door of the abandoned factory.

Ian watched the two SUVs roll off into the LA dawn and away from the safe house. He scanned the area to see if their pursuers were anywhere to be seen, but saw nothing. With luck, they'd have a few seconds to disappear into the factory before the Washington spooks hauled into sight.

Ian was bang on the money.

As he closed the door and stepped to the edge of the window, three black SUVs (that couldn't have been more recognisable as CIA spookmobiles if they had 'CIA' written down the sides) rolled past. Ian hissed loudly twice and held up a clenched fist. Everyone dropped to the floor, Stobbard dragged down by Danny Smith, who clamped a hand roughly over his mouth.

The SUVs had stopped…

Ian glanced over to Dee, who had crawled towards a window and was looking out carefully through a tear in the ragged remains of a filthy blind. They shared a glance. "Fuck…" Ian silently mouthed the word. The rolling decamp had been a good idea. Just not quite good enough, it seemed…

A door opened and the grey-haired man stepped out, studying the run-down old warehouse. He frowned. They were close enough to hear the words he tossed back over his shoulder. "Are you sure they didn't stop?"

"No sir." The voice came from inside the SUV. "Trackers say both vehicles kept going south east."

The grey-haired man frowned again. "So why come down here? Why take a detour to the docks?"

The faceless voice inside the SUV spoke again. "Maybe they were just trying to lead us away from another location, sir? Tracker says they're still heading out towards the desert. Maybe they were just trying to confuse us? Ya know, lay a false trail…"

"Hmm…The grey haired man started to walk towards the factory and both Ian and Dee took a sharp breath in. Behind them, they heard a muffled mumble from Stobbard and a furious hiss from Danny. The Englishman's face had scrunched up as the dust in the air finally started to irritate the hairs in his nostril. A sneeze was building up, a sneeze that could give them all away… Dee could see Danny's grip clamp firmly over both his nose and mouth and the soldier mouthed a silent but furious, 'Don't you FUCKIN' DARE!' at the distressed civilian…

The grey haired man's shadow fell across the barren floor, making the dust motes that danced in the air jiggle like crazy, filthy fairies. His shadow darkened the space where Dee was laying. He was just inches away, a dirty pane of glass between her and discovery. She silently rolled to her right, trying desperately to put some extra inches between her and her pursuer…

The team tried to shrink back into the shadows, hoping and praying that between the darkened interior of the filthy factory and the smeared, dirty glass of the window, the grey haired man wouldn't be able to make out enough detail to alert him to their presence. They were on the verge of discovery and the resulting shitstorm it would bring down on all their heads…

The grey haired man peered through the glass, squinting into the darkness. There were…shapes…humps and lumps in the gloom but he couldn't…quite…make it out…

"Sir! We've got a ping! They're on the 105 a click east of the airport!" The voice from inside the SUV made the grey haired man spin around.

"You're sure?"

"Positive sir! Damn, they must be shifting at one hell of a speed…"

The grey haired man trotted back to the SUV and climbed back in. "Well? What are you waiting for? Drive, damn it!" He slammed the door shut and the SUVs sped off in pursuit of Doug and Tim.

Ian watched the SUVs disappear around the end of the docks and slumped back against the wall breathing a sigh of relief. "All clear!"

"SHIT!" Danny sat back and ran a hand over his face. "Haven't played hide and seek like that for a while, man!" He held his right hand out flat in front of him, palm down, and noticed a slight tremor. The adrenaline was still pounding around his body and he could feel his heart drumming in his chest.

Stobbard clawed furiously at Danny's other hand, which was still firmly clamped over both his mouth and his nose, making breathing impossible. "Danny! Let the poor bastard breathe, for fuck's sake!" Dee hissed at her friend and Danny glanced at his captive.

"Oops!" He flashed an apologetic grin at Dee. "Sorry, feller. My bad." He pulled his hand away and Stobbard spluttered and gasped, sucking in a lungful of the foetid air that stank of dust and decay.

Dee stood up slowly and pushed the Browning back into its place in the thigh holster that sat tight around the right leg of her black combats. "Fuck me, that was close. Everyone okay?"

Danny and Ian nodded. Ian laid a hand on her shoulder as they walked towards the others in silence. The relief they both felt at avoiding discovery by their pursuers was tempered with tension. They were still in a pretty tight spot…

"Okay, radio silence for the next few hours. I don't want anyone, and I mean _anyone_, knowing where we are, and that includes our own people. I don't want them in a position whereby they're giving us away unintentionally, okay?"

"What about Don?"

"I said _nobody_, Ian. We've got three hours until that bank opens. We sit tight and wait it out." Dee sat on the edge of a dusty staircase and stared at Stobbard. "Remember what I said to you in the car, Stobbard?"

"What, was that when you were pointing a damn Browning at me? Yeah, I kinda recall that!" Stobbard snarled his response, briefly forgetting how frightened he really was and instead allowing a brief flash of self-righteous indignation to surface.

Dee nodded wearily. "Yeah, well, I meant what I said, sonny Jim. Jerk me around?" She tapped the holstered Browning. "I'll kill you." The last three words were said with a tone of utter finality, leaving Stobbard and the others in absolutely no doubt that she would do what she said. Dee suddenly stood up and moved away from the others, trying to find her own private space for a few brief moments – a space in which she could bring her emotions back under some semblance of control, where she could find just a snippet of peace and privacy - a space where she could be alone…

Danny watched her move away and got up to follow. Ian laid a gentle but firm hand on his friend's arm. "Dan, seriously bud, don't. Unless you want her to detach your scrotum from the rest of you, I'd leave her well alone if I was you. The only one who can go anywhere _near _her when she's like this and come out alive is Colby." Ian flashed a grin at his friend who shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, mebbe you're right. Just, ya know, back in the car…"

Ian frowned. "What happened in the car?"

"Dude, you don't wanna know. Dee's just a bit tired and emotional right now."

"Probably the wrong time of the fucking month!" The muttered comment came from Stobbard, who was still in a defiant mood. Danny snarled and spun around, delivering a savage backhand across Stobbard's face that caused his mouth to fill with blood and sent him rocking backwards. The slap sounded like a pistol-shot in the echoing darkness of the abandoned factory.

"You watch your filthy mouth, Stobbard!" Danny jabbed a furious finger at the cowering man. His hand went back for another swing, but Ian caught his friend's wrist and held on firmly.

"Leave it, Danny. C'mon buddy, we're all tired and cranky. But he ain't worth it. Really, he's not."

Danny glared briefly at the man but lowered his hand slowly and nodded. "Yeah. Yer right, mate. He ain't bloody worth it. Just…" Danny ran a hand over his face and sighed. "A lot of people have died because of this little shit. That doesn't sit well with me, old son."

"It doesn't sit well with any of us, bud, but he ain't gonna get away with it, I promise you."

"Don't be so sure, fed." Stobbard glanced up, a feral look in his eyes and a smirk twisting his mouth into an ugly, sneering smile.

Ian stared blankly at Stobbard for a second and then crouched in front of him, his face just millimetres from the Englishman. "Dude, you've really gotta stop trying to press people's buttons, ya know?" Ian chuckled. "Ya see, your value to us is more limited than you like to think it is. We know about the box. We know where the box is. Hell, we don't even _need _you to open the box!" He laughed quietly. "I mean, we're just keeping you alive right now out of common courtesy and good manners, right Danny?"

"Right."

"So seriously dude, here's an idea that might just save you from getting any more backhanders from my overly emotional English friend here. Why not shut the hell up for a few minutes, and contemplate what life's gonna look like from the inside of a prison cell?" Ian leaned in closer and the good-humoured smile vaporised into nothing. "Or how about from the inside of a _coffin_?"

He stood up suddenly, looking down on the bloodied face of Stobbard. "You really are a bottom feeder, aren't you Stobbard? Seriously. You could be replaced with a face drawn on a balloon, you're that unimportant. But we're not gonna sink to your level, Stobbard. We're the _good _guys. That's why you're still alive now. And that's the _only _reason you're still alive. Give us cause to change that situation and we will, I assure you." Ian's look was dark and threatening. Stobbard shrank back, his hatred for his situation growing stronger by the second, but still overwhelmed by his own cowardice and fear. He looked down at the dirt, not wanting to hold Ian's gaze any longer…

Silence flooded into the abandoned factory as all four retreated into their own private places for a few hours. Alone and silent, Dee stared out at the spreading dawn, watching a pelican flap lazily across the water. Ian stalked quietly over to the window and kept watch, his dark eyes masking any flicker of emotion. Danny sat back in the dust and dirt of the factory floor and leaned against a pillar, remembering all the times he'd been in this exact same situation…just waiting. The calm before the storm. The pause before all hell broke loose.

And wrapped in his own private hell, Stobbard's anxiety grew into a raging, screaming wave – a giant wave that was about to come crashing down on top of him, pummelling him and sending him spinning into the darkness even further.

He'd been playing a dangerous bluff in a desperate bid to buy more time.

There was nothing in the box that would save him.

The 'evidence' wouldn't protect him, only condemn him to a lifetime in prison. He'd go down with the others. Granted, they _would_ go down, but his credibility would be severely compromised by one particular document in that box. The 'kill notice' and the tape recordings would do for Howard, but there was still plenty that one piece of paper that would put him behind bars for the rest of his life. And instead of falling into the hands of Howard and his ilk, it was now going to be opened by Armstrong and her team. A team that, unlike his Washington friends, couldn't be bought off…

He had been stalling for time, hoping that his masters in Washington would come riding to the rescue, scoop him up from underneath the Fed's noses like they'd done with Duvall and spirit him away. They owed him. My god, but they owed him! It would be as it had always been – at any sign of trouble the 'big dogs' would come in and he'd be able to vanish once again, free to resume his life as their errand boy.

Stobbard didn't actually mind being an errand boy. He was a bloody_ well-paid _errand boy, and in his own, shallow little way, money was all that really mattered to someone who'd grown up in borderline poverty. Sure, he loved having the power over people, but he was also smart enough to realise that there was always someone bigger and nastier than him and that he was half-way up the food chain at best. The trick was to stay on the big dog's good side, do enough to make yourself invaluable to them, keep a few little bits of evidence for 'security' reasons and stay one step ahead.

But they hadn't counted on Don Eppe's team. On Colby Granger. On Dee Armstrong. They hadn't factored in that, in a world where corruption was almost a currency, there were still some people who made it their mission to fight against it, who really were the modern-day 'Untouchables' of legend – who wouldn't just sit back and let the network carry on its callous and putrid operations unchallenged. A team that was practically indestructible, despite what Armstrong had said earlier. A team that _just wouldn't quit…_

Stobbard almost wept with panic. In two hours and fifty minutes they would know. They would _know _he'd been lying. That he was as dirty and as corrupt as his then? What would happen when Armstrong and her team found out that they'd been played for fools all along? That they'd been used, like pawns in a chess game, to allow the primary pieces to move into an end-game that could potentially change the outcome of the forthcoming presidential election? And that as much as they thought they could expose the rotten heart of Capital Hill, there was _nothing_ any of them could do to stop the final outcome?

Would Armstrong really commit cold-blooded murder? Would she really take her revenge on his poor, battered body with a shot to the head? He glanced over to where she sat alone and motionless. He could see the Browning 9mm strapped to her thigh. He could see the dull blue-black top of the barrel, and the brown knurled surface of the grip. In his mind, one of the bullets lurking in the clip had his name on it.

He honestly believed that he had never been as close to dying as he was right now…

_**TBC…**_


End file.
